


In my little town

by DragonsinGondolin



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, M/M, and when I say plot it's probably too strong a word, let's say an excuse to write fluff and fun, more like a collection of prompts shaped together to form a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:20:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3469100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonsinGondolin/pseuds/DragonsinGondolin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meeting an handsome stranger in a coffee shop is nice ... having him take your phone by accident is less nice. But if Bilbo Baggins thought it was the weirdest thing to happen today, well, he was in for a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few things first :  
> 1- English is not my mother language, and this work hasn't been beta-read. I apologize for typos and mistakes.  
> 2- You can find me on tumblr [there](http://dragonsingondolin.tumblr.com/). I'm just a lonely dragon, and I promise I don't bite.  
> 3- Other pairing will happen at some point, though they won't be the main one. Barduil will happen for sure, and then I'll see what fits in the plot.
> 
> (title may change)

Bilbo looked at his wet trench coat, a long sigh escaping his lips as he took in the sight of the brownish mud on the fabric. Just the latest event on this disastrous day. It had all started wrong. First, he had let his breakfast burn, the greatest calamity as far as he was concerned. Then, as he had taken his shower, he had almost turned into an oversized ice cube. The water just stubbornly refused to turn warm, for some reason. Followed the inevitable rain that decided to start just as he stepped out of the bus and kept pouring during the ten minute walk to his work … and yes, he had forgotten his umbrella at home. Queue for his cousin Lobelia to call him in the middle of a particularly quiet and void of meeting morning, which meant that he had no valid reasons to make the call shorter. She had been especially obnoxious, on top of that. And here he was, about to walk into his favourite coffee shop, hoping to treat himself with one of their delicious salmon and dill-flavoured cream sandwich to have at least a bit of sunshine on that clouded day. That’s when a cab decided to drive straight through a puddle, projecting the disgusting water all over Bilbo. Absolutely brilliant. He walked inside the shop, muttering to himself.

 

\- This day seriously can’t get worse !

 

He knew, as soon as the words had escaped through his lips, that he shouldn’t have said that. First, because it sounded terribly self-pitying, something that he usually didn’t allow himself to do … because, really, when had saying something like this had ever helped fix the situation ? Yeah, never. And, second, because that kind of sentence had ironically a way to make “worse” happen. He didn’t know how exactly, but the universe, supposedly chaotic and not prone to coincidences, always managed to pull that kind of shit somehow. Indeed, as soon as he had uttered his words, he violently encountered a solid form. He had to admit he felt a bit knocked out for a few seconds, which is probably why he didn’t understand that the voice was talking to him, at first. Or rather, his mind decided to focus on the voice itself instead of what, and at whom, it spoke.

 

\- Sorry, I didn’t see you. I should have ben more careful.

 

And what a lovely voice it was. Deep, with a rich texture, if not a bit gruff. But polite and educated, he assumed, and Yavanna, did he mention how deep it was ? He stared dreamingly at the floor, not looking at anything in particular, until the stranger shifted a bit and he finally managed to snap out of his thoughts. He looked up, meeting two extremely clear blue eyes.

 

\- Uh, excuse me ?

\- I said I was sorry. Are you alright ?

 

Such a nice set of features, too. Strong jaw, sharp cheekbones. Really interesting. He tried to focus on something else. Answer, right, answering would be a sensible thing to do.

 

\- Ah, yes, I’m fine. I wasn’t paying attention, silly me.

 

He shook his head with a smile, and the stranger seemed to relax. He was tall but, to be honest, most people were taller than him, so it wasn’t exactly knew. Though, the man was still taller than average, he thought. His skin was tanned and rough looking in his hands, as if he had been used to a manual job. Bilbo tried to refrain looking at those hands, large and strong. It wouldn’t do to look like a creepy fetishist or something. Well, he did have a thing for large hands, but the stranger probably didn’t want to know. Luckily, he didn’t seem to realise.

 

\- Well, then it’s all right.

 

He bent over suddenly, taking something on the floor, and Bilbo finally noticed that the collision has made them both drop their phones. He blushed slightly at his own clumsiness, and went to retrieve his own, as the stranger sent a last look at him and, with a nod, exited the shop, his little bag of food in hand. After watching him leave for a moment, still a bit confused by the shock, he turned to the guy behind the counter.

 

\- Hi Oli !

\- Hi Bilbo ! What can I get you ?

\- The Norwegian, please ?

\- Oh … erm. We don’t have any left.

\- Really ?

\- Yes. Actually … the guy you bumped into took the last.

 

Great. Everything was just running smoothly, right ? Couldn’t get worse ? He sighed again, but flashed a little smile at the young man. It really wasn’t Oli’s fault. He should have come sooner, too bad for him.

 

\- Too bad. I guess I’ll have a Spanish, then.

 

Oli dutifully packed the chorizo and tomatoes sandwich that Bilbo took away, leaving the coffee shop with an air of misery. At least, he thought when he was back in his office and fed, he had been able to eat his meal without ado. He was ready to go back to his files, hoping that the afternoon would be better than the morning. Well … that was until a song he didn’t know started playing somewhere in the room … where he was alone. Oh Yavanna, isn’t that how bad things begin in slash movies ? He tried to identify the source of the song, searching around, trying to listen carefully, only to stop dead on his tracks in front of his phone. He stared at the device in the desk, trying to figure out what was happening to it. A few seconds after the music stopped, he finally grabbed the phone and unlocked the screen. As expected, it didn’t have a password, just like his own. However, the first look at the screen’s wallpaper told him that it certainly wasn’t his. Instead of the floral pattern he had changed not a couple of days before, a picture of two teenagers he absolutely didn’t know, with huge matching grins greeted him.

 

\- What the actual … ?

 

Oh no ! The stranger at the shop had taken his phone, and Bilbo his. What are the odds of bumping into someone who has the same phone than you, and picking up the wrong when leaving ? Yeah, next to none, and of course it had to happen to him. He was almost tempted to go back home and call it a day, but he was almost certain that the house would choose that exact moment to collapse. What should he do ? He had to get his phone back, obviously, and the stranger would want to have his too at some point. Maybe he should try and find a way to contact him. Maybe there was his office number, or a relative’s … no, you can’t go through someone’s phone like this, it’s private, the most sensible part of his brain told him, as the other side, more adventurous, whispered to him that it wouldn’t be that bad if it was for finding back the person. It was like cartoons where a little angler and little devil would sit on his shoulders, trying to make him do something. It happened quite a lot to him. Actually, it happened so much that he had taken to name them “Baggins side” and “Took side” after the two sides of his family, the first being entirely respectable and the other being borderline crazy, or that was what Lobelia liked to say. That was rich coming from a Bracegirdle, really.

Anyway, Bilbo decided, after an intense internal debate, that he wouldn’t go look into phone. He wasn’t some nosy douchebag after all. But, then, he was back to his initial wonder. What should he do … the question still stood. Oh, but maybe Oli would know the man, or perhaps where he worked ? Yes, it was worth giving it a try. With a mournful look at his papers, he stormed out of the room, the phone firmly held as he would a weapon. He must have had a fierce look on his face, if his co-workers’ looks were any indication. Only his friend Boyd dared to call him.

 

\- Hey Bilbo ! Where are you going ?

 

As always, his voice was loud and clear as a trumpet. The man always looked cheerful, no matter what, the only time Bilbo had seen him worried was when his sister-in-law had had complications with her pregnancy. He also insisted on wearing some sort of trapper hat all the time. Bilbo had to admit that he had found it strange at first, but the man’s sweet personality had quickly made him brush off this oddity.

 

\- Going back to the coffee shop. A guy took my phone, and I took his. Maybe Oli will be able to tell me who he is.

 

He waved at Boyd, already marching to the lift, but the man’s voice called him again.

 

\- But, Bilbo … why don’t you try calling your phone with his ? He would recognize the number and pick up, no ?

 

At that, Bilbo stopped dead in his tracks, slowly turning to Boyd.

 

\- You, my friend, are a genius.

\- You forgot “dashing”, too.

 

Bilbo smiled softly at his friend’s antics, and proceeded to dial his own number on the stranger’s phone. He let it ring, hoping that the man would recognise the number calling and pick it up. He did, just as Bilbo’s faith in the idea was starting to decrease dramatically.

 

\- I am really sorry about the situation. I’m sorry I mistook our phones.

\- No problems, Bilbo’s cheerful answer came, it appears we have the same phones.

 

A deep hum of agreement replied to that. It was awkward. Really, absolutely, immensely awkward. The man was nice about it, and frankly, Bilbo told himself, he indeed was the one who took his phone. But somehow, Bilbo felt embarrassed about the whole business. What was the man going to think about the fussing little mousey man whose phone he accidentally borrowed. Then came the wave of panic. What if the man had looked into his phone ? There was a picture that his cousin Esme had taken of him, last Christmas, and he looked absolutely wasted on it. Ok Bilbo, just breathe. It was all right. He would have his phone back soon, and if the man looked into it, well he was the one being improper, not Bilbo. The following ten minutes, waiting outside his office’s building for the man to arrive, were just awful. You never realize how dependent you are on technology before it’s taken from you. He was looking at the street, desperate to catch sight of the stranger, and he felt like he was dying a little. When he finally arrived, explaining with an embarrassed expression that he had lost his way, Bilbo had practically been bouncing with anxiety. They didn’t waste time to exchange their phones, each having his own back, before briefly but politely shaking hands. What a strong handshake the man had. The stranger disappeared again on the crowd of people, while Bilbo stormed back into the building. He had work to do, after all, and the day was already tiring, so he didn’t intend on letting it get worse, thank you very much.

 

It wasn’t until late in the afternoon that he caught himself staring out of the window and thinking about the stranger. The encounter and its consequences hadn’t been exactly the best, but … the man was kind of … you know … handsome … here he had said it. He should probably had asked for his name, at least. Ah, never mind. The chance that they would meet again was small, and he probably wasn’t much interested in some fussy accountant, right ? Because that was all that Bilbo was, really. A plain, if not slightly odd, accountant with fuzzy hair and a weird sense of fashion. He sighted, turning back to his paperwork, in which the numbers were displayed in a hieroglyphic fashion. What are the odds, really ? The answer was probably none. Boyd would be crossed with him if he heard him talk in such a pessimistic way, but Bilbo knew better than daydream about whatnots and probabilities. His daydreaming years were behind him, now.

Still, the idea lingered for the rest of his day, lasting even when he was struck in the traffic, in his toy-like green car. Clear blue eyes, a strong jaw, and this air of importance with which the man carried himself, as if he had some important mission to see done. Without being incredibly gorgeous … well, not in a supermodel sense, no … he sure left a memorable impression, that was certain. Parking in front of his house, and exiting his car, he noticed the line of packages and furniture in the garden of his left-neighbour. Ah, so old Mrs Bolger’s house had been sold, after all. Alfred Gamgee had told him so, but Bilbo didn’t trust gossips as easily, so he had been waiting for his friend and gardener’s prediction to actually happen. Bilbo watched as a bunch of people were moving things, chatting along the way. He almost miss the grey-haired man who turned to him with a polite nod. He noticed though, and tried to use his neighbour-friendly cheerful tone, despite his bad day.

 

\- Good evening, sir.

 

The man turned to the sky.

 

\- It is, although I’m afraid it might rain later.

 

Bilbo wasn’t sure what to answer to that, so he nodded solemnly before turning back to see the more-or-less enthusiast workers, a tall dark-haired woman in a denim overall, two excited teenagers, a threatening and huge bald man, a blond man who moved boxes a bit too absent-mindedly, and another man who watched the teenagers with a fond exasperation on his features … probably the dad. The accountant then turned slowly to see the last of the persons coming from behind the roses bush. His breath caught when piercing blue eyes settled on him and black eyebrows frowned slightly.

 

Well, he guessed he wouldn’t have to search the town to find the stranger, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Handsome stranger strikes again, but this time, he is not a stranger anymore. Well, not exactly.

He wasn’t sure whether it was a blessing or a nightmare. It had been a week since their awkward meeting at the coffee shop, and he then found that the handsome stranger was his neighbour. He had a name, by the way, though Bilbo’s tookish part insisted on calling him Sir tall, dark and sexy. He had found that very evening, actually. Thomas Durin. It sounded nice, and Bilbo thought it suited him, in a way, as much as a name could fit people. A rose by any other name and everything. Anyway, the chore of the problem hadn’t showed up until the following morning really. And from then, it had only being worse. It should have been a wonderful gift, in a way, and Bilbo knew it kinda was. But, it also made things much weirder than they already were.

 

Long story short : Thomas Durin enjoyed running in the morning … preferably wearing something awfully tight.

He ran every morning, and passed in front of Bilbo’s house at the exact moment the accountant was taking his breakfast. Brilliant. Bilbo was but a simple man, who enjoyed the simplest things : food, a good nap, the sound of a cracking fire, the light of fireflies, the smell of books. And nicely shaped booties, too. Oh yes, you can laugh, but it wasn’t funny at all. Having your eyes glued to your neighbour’s butt every morning wasn’t exactly respectable behaviour, was it ? Bilbo was seriously torn between waking up earlier to spare himself the embarrassment and enjoying the view, hashtag yolo.

 

A week after and he still had no idea what he should do about it. Everyday, his gaze would inevitably be attracted to the all-muscles silhouette wearing dark blue passing in front of his garden, barely noticing the excited Doberman following – which was quite impressive considering the size of that dog-. Yavanna was testing his patience. But this day would be different. By some play of Fate … or probably something less dramatic … Bilbo would be forced into a bit of action.

It was on Tuesday. He was trying to get his old toaster to work, the device fighting hard not to comply, when the doorbell rang. Someone at the door so early on a work day was probably Alfred Gamgee. His neighbour was friendly, and always willing to help, but was an independent gardener and didn’t seem to understand office hours. He therefor had a habit of visiting at the most inconvenient times. Sure enough, the man was at his doorstep, coming to comment on this or that event which Bilbo doubted he would find interesting, even if he wasn’t in a hurry. Unfortunately, Bilbo didn’t like being rude, and Alfred was so kind anyway. But the accountant was saved from finding an excuse to end the conversation by a shout, followed by a series of barks.

 

\- Smaug, no ! Come back !

 

Alfred let out a shriek when the massive Doberman tried to jump on him, happily barking and panting next to his face. Bilbo didn’t know what to do exactly, and just stood there, watching the dog who proceeded to lick his neighbour’s face.

 

\- No, Smaug, you can’t do this ! Let go ! Now !

 

Of course, Mister “oh, let me show off my nice tights in spandex” was there, trying to pull his dog away from Alfred, who was now laughing despite the whole mess. The deep voice sounded embarrassed as he finally managed to restrain the adorable monster’s enthusiasm.

 

\- I am so sorry ! He likes new people too much.

 

But Alfred didn’t seem to mind. He stood up clumsily, smiling at Durin.

 

\- Well, he sure is friendly, but it’s alright. I like friendly dogs. Mister Bilbo here has a rather enthusiast specimen as well.

 

Truth. Bilbo was the proud owner of a lovely Italian greyhound. Although Smeagol, unlike the Doberman, tended to be weary around strangers. Distrustful, even. That unfortunately came with having a difficult past. Poor Smeagol’s first masters had been abusive ones. As annoying as the dog’s habit of stealing food and barking at strangers could be sometimes, Bilbo couldn’t find it in himself to be upset with the dog. But Alfred was right, tough, because as soon as you gained Smeagol’s trust, the dog turned really enthusiast and caring around you. Alfred had been around for long, and always made sure to bring a treat to the hound, along with a gently pat on the dog’s head, which had assured him a special place in the dog’s heart. Alfred’s son, on the contrary, didn’t seem to share his father’s love for canines, but that was a story for another time.

 

\- Well, Sir, and Smaug, it has been a pleasure, but I need to get going. Have a pleasant day. Goodbye, Mister Bilbo.

 

Alfred had never managed to drop the Mister. Actually, he tended to call everybody Mister, with the notable exception of haughty and vain people whom he made a point of ignoring. Randall Greenwood from across the street had learned that lesson the hard way. Bilbo watched his neighbour leave with a little smile. Good old Alfred. A bit odd, at times, but he himself hardly had any place to talk. He turned to Sir Gorgeous Booty, trying to school his face into “polite neighbour mode”. That was really difficult. The man truly was handsome, cheeks a bit rosy from running, slightly panting, and black hair messy. My, and that glorious beard should be illegal. Bilbo had a thing for facial hair, and was painfully remembered of the fact, eyes trailing over the bearded jaw.

 

\- Good morning, mister Durin, he tried, to stop looking like a staring moron.

 

\- Ah, just Thomas is fine, you know. Sorry again for the dog.

\- Hm ? Oh no, it’s alright. Alfred like this kind of canine affection.

 

He looked at the dog, smiling.

 

\- So, Smaug is it ?

 

The dog barked happily, and the owner shrugged a bit.

 

\- Yes, Smaug. A bit of a menace, really. My sister is the only one who can ruled him, but she couldn’t take him in so … I got stuck with him.

 

He looked up at Bilbo, noticing his confused expression.

 

\- Oh, right ! Smaug was my grandfather’s. When he died, we had to find the poor fellow a place to stay. He’s nice, really, on most days anyway. He’s just really enthusiast about people, and doesn’t know his strength, that’s all.

 

He looked more and more embarrassed as he spoke, as if he wished he could stop talking but couldn’t help letting the words out of his mouth. Bilbo found it absolutely adorable. Not that he would ever tell the man, mind you.

 

\- So you … have a dog too ?

 

Bilbo tried not to smile at the way the man had ended his embarrassed monologue and saved him from the awkwardness by assuming his own share of the conversation.

 

\- Yes ! Smeagol is a lovely dog. He is not as warm with strangers like your Smaug but he’s nice. I found him. Poor fellow was almost starving, abandoned by his masters.

 

Thomas’s face took a shocked expression, as if he couldn’t believe that people could be so cruel to their canine friend. Well, Bilbo himself had had troubles believing it when he first saw the dog. He was sure the haunted look of the dog would haunt him forever, or the way he had refused the food Bilbo gave him at first, as if it was poisoned. He concluded, sighing and eyes trailing on the flagstone of his alley.

 

\- Yes, he was in a rather poor state, poor thing.

\- But now he has a loving family thanks to you.

 

Bilbo looked up at the man again, and what he saw was glorious. That smile, Yavanna above, was a lovely sight. It lit up all of the man’s face, his blue eyes sparkling. Oh. Oooohhh. He was in so much trouble. Gorgeous, adorkable, and hiding a kind personality under the dark and handsome looks. He was exactly what poor Bilbo liked …and probably straight. Why do bad things happen to good people ? The accountant couldn’t help but smile back, nodding as if to say “I hope so”. What a nice and magical moment. Of course, dogs have a habit of ruining those. Smaug began barking at the closed door behind Bilbo, and it took them a moment to understand why, and hear the light scratching. The accountant turned around, talking to the creature behind it.

 

\- Smeagol, don’t scratch the door, please !

 

He could always try, right ? But the hound didn’t give a damn about his master’s plea, and kept scratching desperately. He probably wanted to know what Bilbo was doing, and why he couldn’t participate. Or he was ready for his morning walk. Or a bit of all of this at once.

 

\- I need to get going, Durin said with a smile in his voice. Even just to prevent Smaug from acting weird.

\- Yes, yes, you do that. I need to go back to my breakfast and … well, have a nice day.

 

They smiled at each other one last time before the man and his dog resumed their running. And if Bilbo waited a few more seconds to look at a certain part of the man’s anatomy … well … it was nobody’s business but his own. Retreating inside afterward, he scratched his dog’s head lightly, the hound looking at him through half closed lids.

 

\- Well Smeagol … it appears that I am truly fucked. And not in the way I would like.

 

The hound’s ears twitched, and Bilbo shot him an apologetic smile.

 

\- Sorry for the language.

 

But, yes, life is going to be interesting now, I guess. Not too much, I hope, but enough. He went back to the kitchen to wash his breakfast’s plate and cup, dutifully followed by the dog.

 

\- Still more than Alfred’s gardening anecdotes and Randall’s fashion sense, anyway. Not that those are not interesting, but this –he motioned to the general direction of Durin’s new house- is certainly much more exciting.

 

He kept chatting to the dog all through his morning preparation. He had found that Smeagol liked to be talked to, probably why he loved Alfred’s company, and Bilbo was more than happy to oblige. He was single, had always lived alone since he left his parents’ home, and the dog’s company was comforting. His neighbours were used to see the accountant walking to his dog and talking to him as he would do with a relative or friend. They didn’t judge him. Most of them had pets and understood anyway. Only old Mrs Proudfoot still rose her eyebrows sometimes, but she did it at a lot of things, so it wasn’t exactly a proof of anything.

Standing at the front door again, his umbrella hung to his elbow, he couldn’t help but smile at the earlier encounter and send a quick look to the next house. Interesting indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta-read, and english still isn't my first language, so sorry for the typos.  
> My headcanon is that modern!Thorin is embarassed when he has to talk outside of work because he's not sure why people would want to listen when it's not work-related. Hope it's not too OC.  
> Also, I made myself sad with dog!gollum's backstory. *sobs*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Durin enjoyed the idea of the countryside, and he had found a good compromise when moving in his new house. Unfortunately, this lifestyle came hand in hand with a rather serious downside ...

By buying a house in a semi-rural suburb, Thomas Durin had hoped for a new and bright future. Magazines about the joys of living a comfortable life in a “sophisticated cottage” house had always tempted him, calling to him with their large gardens, wooden floors and whatnots, and this part of the town had been a good concession to this dream, while remaining close to his work. Anyway, after his grandfather’s death, the three of them had had far too much money on their hands. Might as well put it to good use, and Thomas knew that Trevor would approve his choice. When they were kids, his grandfather would always lecture them about the importance of family and home, about building a life for one’s heirs. Legacy had always been one of his favourite words. It was before the illness, of course, and before leaving a legacy became building an empire on wealth and paranoia. But it was over now, and that wasn’t the Trevor Durin Thomas wanted to remember.

As most people, he had read stories about “starting a new life”, “new year, new you”, and that kind of thing, read it in magazines, self-coaching programs, books and films. He had always been a bit sceptic about it, probably because that was exactly what his own father had done … leaving behind his ancient life to give in to his desire of seeing the world. They received a postcard, every now and then, and Thomas was torn between hating him for not being around and missing most of the important events of their lives, and wanting to follow him and just say “fuck everything” to the world. So, yes, extreme life-makeovers weren’t for him, but buying a house was safe enough. It was a big step, but still reasonable, and he didn’t even have to change his lifestyle or job. He literally lived on the other side of the same city. What could possibly go wrong ?

 

Apparently, a lot of things.

 

He had previously discovered that he was, in fact, allergic to some plant, and had spent the two first weeks with a stuffed nose. Not that it had stopped him from running in the morning, which he was glad his sister didn’t know. She would have boxed his ears and called him stupid before he got any chance of explaining himself. Anyway, the doctor had told him that the mix of the pollen and the rain had probably been the cause of it, so now he was praying that the weather would stop being so wet and gloomy. But this wasn’t the worst, no sir. This was inconvenient, but not something that could stop him.

However, he had forgotten something really important when coming to live in a place surrounded by pastures and fields, old-ass cottages and barns. Rodents. He, a city-boy born and bred, was afraid of mice. He had just conveniently forgotten it when moving to a semi-rural environment.

 

It had started as any other Sunday mornings, with breakfast and jogging, and he was pouring himself his usual mid-morning cup of coffee when it happened. A quiet noise, first, then the sound of tiny steps on the kitchen floor. Eyes wide opened, he had turned towards the source of it, only to be faced with two little black eyes staring back from the floor. The shriek that escaped his mouth had woken Smaug, who had come from the living room running and barking. He hadn’t been really useful after that, the little creature running around the kitchen, trapped inside and the dog between it and the door. Smaug had barked some more at it, then curiosity had made him stop, and he started sniffing around the creature, who seemed as positively frightened by the dog than Thomas had been of it.

 

\- Mahal’s beard, Smaug, just leave it. Or better, make it leave the house.

 

But Smaug only had only given him a quick look before turning his focus back on the creature. Sighing from the chair he had –very cartoon-like- been standing on, Thomas tried to take a look at the terrible beast. It was bigger than a mouse, but the differences between rodents were not his strong point, not that he had really tried learning, terrified as he was by these animals. It had a short greyish fur, and was squeaking at the dog, its pointy face visibly trying to find an escape route. Thomas knew he was probably being ridiculous, but he just couldn’t help it. Daisy, his sister, used to make fun of him as a child, the sight of her big, already larger-than-life, brother retreating before small field-creatures prompting a smug smile on her round face. She had been a menace. Still was, to be honest. But at least, now he could threaten her to tell her sons about her mischiefs as a kid, or worse, as a teenager, and he would be the one with a smug smile upon seeing the look of terror on her face.

He contemplated the idea of making a quick run for his life through the kitchen to reach the door, but the fear of seeing the animal having the same idea at the same time and crossing its path was too much. And to do what, then ? It wouldn’t make the animal disappear, anyway. No, all things considered, he preferred staying exactly where he was, and where he could see the creature. Yes, that would be wise … enough. Though, he would probably have to do something at some point. Just as this precise thought was forming into his mind, he heard the front door open, and a clear but slightly worried voice calling.

 

\- Hm … Thomas ? Are you alright ? I heard noises.

\- Em … in the kitchen.

 

It came out more alarmed and high than he had aimed to but, given the circumstances, he was fairly proud of it nonetheless. The curly head of his right neighbour appeared at the kitchen door, concern written on his features, until he spotted him in his chair, and the soft greenish eyes widen.

 

\- What are you … ?

\- Rat. There !

 

Bilbo’s eyes followed the direction he was pointing with his finger, and he began laughing upon seeing the small and terrified creature which was still squealing under Smaug’s stare.

 

\- This … this is not a rat, Thomas.

\- Well, yeah, whatever it is, I don’t want it here.

\- Oh come on, it’s just a shrew. It can die of fear and stress, if you can imagine. It’s not going to do you any harm, I can assure you. It’s not even one of the venomous one, and even those can only give you a little irritation.

 

He had explained all of this in a serious tone while calmly but firmly pulling Smaug away from the poor thing and opening the door to the garden. Maybe it was the fresh air coming from outside, or the dog finally out of its sight, but the creature ran away quickly through the open door as soon as Bilbo had taken a few steps back. Slowly, Thomas climbed down his chair, still gazing with a worried look at the door. Bilbo’s shoulders were still shaking with laughter, but at least he tried to hide it, maybe as to not embarrass Thomas further, who already felt a mighty blush rising on his face and down his neck.

 

\- I … uh … thank you for your help.

 

He tried desperately to sound casual, smoothing his tee-shirt with his hands, but he felt absolutely awkward, and his voice was still higher than usual. Conceal don’t feel, Durin, he told himself as his neighbour managed to calm his laugher.

 

\- You’re welcome, I guess. It’s funny to see a big man like you being afraid of such a little thing.

 

He was smiling, on the verge of laughing again, but Thomas could see that he wasn’t trying to make fun of him. It didn’t prevent him from feeling attacked, though.

 

\- Well, not everybody is born a peasant in a rural town. Some of us live in cities and don’t have to deal with … field mice.

\- It’s a shrew, not a …

 

Bilbo’s voice trailed off as he was hit by what Thomas had just said.

 

\- I beg your pardon ?

 

His voice had turned high suddenly, and he looked at Durin with an openly shocked expression.

 

\- Peasant ? Who in the name of Yavanna do you think you are ? Lord Posh of Fancyville ?

 

Well, maybe his choice of words weren’t the best. No, scratch that, they were absolutely catastrophic. Not that Thomas was ready to admit that.

 

\- Not my fault if you look like a grocer in some countryside town.

 

It was even worse. His neighbour didn’t yell, didn’t say anything else actually, but he looked at him squinting his eyes and his nose twitching in an angry expression. He looked like a pissed off hedgehog. Thomas would have found it deeply amusing, adorable even, in other circumstances, but there were no other circumstances. Bilbo was looking at him with a deadly glare, the colour of his eyes had turned almost steel blue, and Thomas could smell the danger. For all his weirdly gentleman-farmer looks and his round stature, Bilbo Baggins didn’t seem exactly innocent or harmless. Would he be able to turn physically violent ? Thomas didn’t believe so. But he seemed to be gifted with his tongue, and Thomas wasn’t sure he wanted to be at the receiving end of it. Well, not in that circumstance, anyway. And, no, that wasn’t the kind of image he wanted to have of his neighbour, not now. He shouldn’t have felt that turned on by the angry face looking up at him, but he had always been plagued with a very bad timing regarding those issues.

He turned around to continue pouring the coffee he had abandoned earlier, leaving Bilbo to huff loudly behind him.

 

\- Did you need something else, Bilbo ?

\- Did I ? The f… the nerve you have, Durin.

 

Dropped the friendly “Thomas”. The taller man resisted the urge to turn around and stop the man as he exited the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. That didn’t go well, Thomas thought as he braced himself on the counter, trying not to bang his head on it out of frustration. Why was he always doing this ? He met friendly people, people he knew wouldn’t judge him harshly, people with whom he didn’t need to pretend he was perfect in any way, and still, he ended up acting aloof, refusing to admit the littlest imperfection. Seriously, who gave a fuck if he was afraid of rodents ? Bilbo had probably found it cute, not ridiculous. He knew that, but he couldn’t let go and accept that, sometimes, it was ok not to be in total control. The embarrassment he had felt for being caught standing in a chair like some frightened maiden –though, that comparison was stupid, as he knew maiden not to be more fragile and easily terrified than the rest of humanity- had just been too much. Exactly as finding out that he had mistaken their phones. It probably seemed unimportant, but for him, it had been mortifying. He had found solace in thinking that he would probably never meet the cute stranger again, but when he saw him standing in the garden next door, he had almost retreated into the house running, never to get out again. His old friend Baldwyn’s presence had barely been enough to remind him that he was a respectable grown up who had to face the world instead of a child who could pretend that his troubles didn’t exist if he staid under his blankie.

He would have to apologise, he thought, finally sipping his coffee. It was a nice place, and he wanted to try to be friendly with his neighbours, or pleasant, at least. Telling people they were peasants, especially after they were kind enough to help you, didn’t fit in that category. He had been caught a bit off guard, and his nerves had still been suffering from the fright, but that wasn’t an excuse for being crude. The shorter didn’t deserve to suffer from his bad social skills like this. Would flowers be enough ? The man seemed to like them, if his luxurious garden was any indication. Or maybe it was too romantic for an apologise ? He really had no idea. Baldwyn usually took care of finding the right words and gifts to people he had professionally offended, and he never felt the need to apologise to people in a private context. He was how he was, and he wouldn’t be sorry for it, he had always said to his sister. Beside, he wasn’t really into making friends. The persons who mattered usually saw past this flaw of character. He had never been cruel on purpose. This time was different. Bilbo had been nothing but kind and welcoming to him, he deserved to know that, and that Thomas was grateful.

 

Yeah … flowers would be good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin showing us how disastrous his social skills are, hehe.  
> This was initially a prompt. Somthing like "imagine person A of your OTP being affraid of a rodent and person B coming to the rescue". I thought that Thorin being the handsome knight was a bit cliché, and why would Bilbo, born in the countryside, affraid of rodents ? So, yeah. Poor Thorin.  
> As always, this hasn't been beta-read, and english is still not my mother language. I'm already writing the following chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas Durin tries to apologize, even though he has the social ability of a hermit crab. He buys a bouquet of flowers, even though he doesn't know the first thing about flowers. What could possibly go wrong, eh ?

Bilbo had walked home in a hurried pace, feet stomping on the floor, for once totally oblivious to the damages it would cause to the grass, and had slammed his own front door with much more force than was necessary, causing Smeagol to jump and yelp at the noise. The man calmed down slightly, faced with those eyes he had always found way too big for this kind of dog, but still absolutely cute. When the hound looked at him with his eyes slightly watering, of pleading, he couldn’t help but melt in puddle of fondness.

 

\- Oh, sorry my dear, I didn’t want to startle you. Dreadful man !

 

Followed a long rant of him venting out his frustration towards the man. The nerve, he told the dog while angrily raiding his pantry in the hopes of baking his rage away.

 

\- Can you imagine it, Smeagol ? I help him and he tells me that I, Benjamin Baggins Jr, am a peasant. Peasant indeed, sir. Ah, if my father had heard that ! Or worse, my mother ! Wait until I tell them, Smeagol, just you wait. She will drive all the way from Hobbiton just to give him an earful, let me tell you.

 

Smeagol barked happily at the mention of Belladona, without any doubt associating his master’s mother with the memory of glorious breakfast in which he was always sure to receive some warm and crusty bacon, or the long walks in the fields behind the lovely house called Bag-End. This put a happy smile on Bilbo’s face, as he began the baking of his legendary strawberry jam pie. He had no doubt that his mother would want a word, or many, with the man upon hearing about this. His father would probably laugh heartily, making comments about city-dwellers while smiling around his pipe. Benjamin Sr was a sweet person, with an empathetic way of looking at the world and a no-nonsense attitude regarding drama and arguing. Though, that didn’t mean that one should overlook the man, because he could easily worm his way into any conversation and debate with his smart tongue and quick thinking. Belladona Baggins, née Took, was more of a roaming fire, ready to burn down her opponent, but as quick to cool down as a flame drowned in water, and her outbursts were always quick to fade, event though she would keep thinking about it long after that, while her husband usually smiled after a fight and go back to his garden or armchair without much more ado. They were quite the odd pairing, mismatched most people in Hobbiton would say, but they loved and completed each other perfectly.

Bilbo had always admired that, thinking somehow that their marriage was perfect and flawless and, by the time he grew up to understand that, no, not everything had been smooth and easily flowing in their marital life, just as any couple in the world, it was already too late. In Bilbo’s mind, nothing was as satisfying and perfect as what his parents had, which led to many disappointment. But that was another story.

 

By the time the pie, plus a series of fresh scones, plus a whole batch of cookies, were cooling on the large wooden table of the kitchen, most of Bilbo’s anger had subsided, and he was left to sigh heavily into his cup of Darjeeling. Thomas had seem so charming, if not a little sombre, and Bilbo had been delighted. Gorgeous body, apparently kind and intelligent ? What are the odds, really ? But he should have known that something would go wrong sooner or later. It was all too rom-com to be true, the handsome neighbour being all wonderful and stuff. Maybe it was another type of movie and the man was hiding corpse into his basement ? Bilbo shook his head. That was stupid. First, the house didn’t have a basement and two, a serial killer would probably not be ok with someone entering their house to save them from a scary little rodent. They would probably have killed the shrew or torture it, isn't it ?

Anyway, Thomas Durin didn’t seem like the scary type. He was just a boringly rude person, apparently. Shame, Bilbo had almost hoped … but no. Maybe it was for the best, actually. This way he would stop pinning over the man were there was probably no chance that something might happen. Still, it was so disappointing he didn’t feel like checking on his prized tomatoes like he had planned to. And it wasn’t any guy he had met in a bar or something, this was his neighbour. He would have to see the man and his stupid handsome face everyday for some time, there was no avoiding it. Not that Bilbo had planned to avoid Durin. He wasn’t the one who had said something wrong, no sir. He would walk down his own path everyday, and pointedly ignore the man to show his disdain. Yes, sounded like a good plan.

 

He intended to stick to it, even if that meant looking haughty, which he was sure his father wouldn’t approve of. He would show the man he wasn’t a mere peasant. But, of course, this plan didn’t take into account a “minor” thing. What if Thomas Durin apologised before ? In Bilbo’s still angry mind, this would never happen, of course. And still …

 

He was about to pour himself another cuppa when the doorbell rang, causing Smeagol to raise his head in alert toward the door. Raising his eyebrows in a surprised expression, the master stood up, crossing the kitchen and into the entrance to open the door, only to be face with none other than an extremely awkward looking Durin. Bilbo was so surprised to see him at his doorstep that it took him some time to notice the bouquet in his arms. The man opened his mouth a few times like a fish out of water, as if he wasn’t satisfied with what he wanted to say and was looking for a better way to phrase his thoughts. He was also growing annoyed at himself with every aborted attempt. Bilbo could help feeling annoyed too, and decided to pressure him a bit.

 

\- Yes, Mr Durin ?

 

Taken aback by the harsh tone, and blushing slightly, the taller man opened his mouth once again, and this time, the words came rushing hurriedly.

 

\- You’re not a peasant and I bought you flowers.

 

Bilbo blinked a few times, not entirely sure what to do with that, before he squinted his eyes slightly. He took the bouquet Thorin was handing him, the man’s gaze looking pointedly at his own shoes.

 

\- Uh, thank you.

 

He then took a proper look at the flowers. They were a vivid mix of purple and yellow shades, which created a rather interesting contrast in Bilbo’s opinion. The flowers chosen, however, made his eyes widen in shock, looking up to the man again, who was now staring at him with an anxious expression on his face.

 

\- Thomaaas, he said, elongating the last vowel a bit, do you have any idea what those flowers mean ?

 

The man raised an eyebrow, looking at the flowers, then back at Bilbo.

 

\- Uh, no, I asked the man at the shop to … pick the best. I’m not good at flowers. Why … they’re bad ?

 

He had no idea, clearly. Bilbo smiled an uncomfortable smile, shaking his head firmly.

 

\- Nooo, it’s … it’s fine.

 

Thomas Durin didn’t look convinced, especially considering the blush that crept his way in Bilbo’s face. The shorter man preferred directing his look at the flowers instead of facing the man’s gaze. They were nice, really, just not exactly appropriate. The flowers that struck the most were the lovely lilac for the purple part, circled by daffodils, bright and elegant, for the yellow. A paler shade of small yellow spanish jasmine flowers peppered the bouquet, and all of it was maintained by branches of lavender. No, not exactly an appropriate in such a situation. Well, except if Durin wanted to give a certain message, which Bilbo clearly doubted.

 

\- Bilbo ? What do these flowers mean ?

\- Ah, well, you see … my father is fairly knowledgeable in the art of flower language, and he tried to explain as much as he could to me so …

\- What do they mean ?

 

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, eyes still focused on the flowers, before muttering finally.

 

\- Love, passion, desire, ahem … unrequited love. Yes, more or less that.

\- WHAT ?

 

Thomas Durin paled, the previous blush of embarrassment vanishing from his face in a matter of seconds, and his pupils shrunk into tiny points inside his eyes.

 

\- I … I asked the man at the shop a bouquet for … an apology. I swear I didn’t …

\- I know, Thomas, I know. It’s alright. Maybe he didn’t know. You can know about how to tend to plants without knowing their meaning.

 

Bilbo offered a shy smile, then.

 

\- Would you like to come inside ? I have tea and there’s some cake.

 

Some cake, yes, the tookish part of his brain snickers, more like a whole bakery. But Thomas smiles back and nods, following the shorter man inside. Bilbo goes to fetch another cup from the cupboard, and catches Thomas’s look at the table, where the result of his baking is still waiting. He shrugs while explaining matter-of-factly.

 

\- I stress-cook.

\- Well, you did say that you had some cake.

 

The Took in him was laughing his arse off, and it would probably have high fived Thomas if it had had its own body, which luckily it didn’t.

 

\- It’s … really nice of you. The flowers I mean, whatever their meaning is, which you couldn’t have guessed. Yes … nice.

\- It’s only normal. I have been rude. I had to apologize.

 

His voice was a grunt, and it was clear that he wasn’t used to apologize, but Bilbo was glad he did. Maybe Thomas wasn’t as rude and haughty as he thought. His anger had made him judge him more harshly than he ought. Thomas obviously needed to work on his social skills, though, but this wasn’t Bilbo’s place to judge now, was it. It was his business only if the man was rude to him, and as he had apologise, and understood that what he said was bad, it was back to normal as far as the accountant was concerned. He nodded, accepting the apology and served the man a cup of tea.

 

\- It was a good thing to do nonetheless.

\- Yes, that’s what my sister always tells me.

 

Bilbo looked up at him with a smile, his interest rising at the mention of the man’s sibling, and seeing an opportunity to turn the conversation to a more pleasant topic.

 

\- Is she the lady who helped you move in ?

 

Thomas snorted upon hearing Daisy being called a “lady”. Well, he supposed she could act like one when she wanted, but most of the time she was more like a Viking shield maiden, cursing, singing loudly, stumping her feet when walking. Thomas loved that side of her, which their father had encouraged from an early age, but the idea of his sister siting on a throne in regal attire, and acting with proper etiquette, was simply hilarious. Good thing they weren’t royalty, to be honest. He answered his neighbour’s curious look by nodding, not mentioning any of his thoughts regarding his sister. It would probably be wiser to maintain the illusion that his family was normal.

 

\- Yes, yes. With her sons and husband. My brother was there too. And Baldwyn, whom you talked too, of course.

 

He smiled at the shorter man, before asking.

 

\- What about you, Bilbo ? Do you have siblings ?

\- No. My parents wanted more children, but they only had me. They had trouble having me, actually.

 

Bilbo’s look turned distant, the man staring into space for a moment, so Thomas didn’t press the matter. If Bilbo’s parents had tried but failed to have more children, it probably was a sore topic, and he didn’t want to intrude. But Bilbo turned his gaze to him again, and smiled softly.

 

\- I used to bother them to have a little brother, so he would chase fairies in the woods with me, or catch fireflies. When I grew up, I finally understood why they didn’t, and that my insistence was probably making them sadder.

\- You didn’t know, you were a child ! It wasn’t your fault.

\- I know, the man answered in a sigh. But it still hurt them, I guess.

 

Thomas hummed in agreement, seeing what Bilbo meant. You may have the best intention, and being oblivious doesn’t make you a bad person, but it still had the same effect. Not everything is a matter of fault. Sometimes nobody did anything wrong, but it still hurts. Memories of his grandfather’s last year flashed before Thomas’s eyes, and he sighed too, before trying to find something else to lighten the mood.

 

\- You know, you shouldn’t feel too bad about not having a little brother. They mostly are a pain in the arse.

 

And Bilbo did laugh at that.

 

He was still shaking with laugher minutes later, choking on his cake too, while Thomas proceeded to list all the things Frederick had done to him – and all the things he had done to him in reply – when they were kids, especially the first years, when their mother had been certain that sharing the same room would do them good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, for the flower meaning ... I used symbolism I found in french, so I hope it's the same for english readers (and for others). Anyway, here are, more precisely than how Bilbo put it, the meanings to see in the bouquet :  
> While standing mostly for new beginnings, _daffodils_ can also mean unrequited love (but beware to put more than one in your bouquet, because it apparently means bad luck). _Lilac_ , when purple, means first love. _Yellow jasmine_ is associated with grace and elegance, but the spanish variety also stands for sensuality. As for _lavender_ , it is a symbol of purity, but also of devotion.  
> So, yes, Thorin's bouquet wasn't subtile, at all.
> 
> I have no real knowledge on what they're supposed to mean when they're cut a certain way, or presented in a certain fashion, so it's just the meaning of the flowers themselves. As I said in a comment in the last chapter, I considered that Thorin would just enter the first flowershop and buy a bouquet, because it's usually what people want in these situations.
> 
> Yoru_Hana, your guess was soooo close. You did guess the daffodils and purple lilac, which are my two main flowers. You guessed the amount of flowers correctly, too. I do hope the flowers I picked don't look too weird or ugly put together, eheh.  
> And yes, I went for the romantic meaning. I like to make those two idiots blush. (But your ideas for the insult bouquet were really interesting).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A thief in the night ? Hm, no, just a very drunk and confused Durin trying to break in. And not the usual Durin either.

It had just been a light scratch, at first, but it had startled Bilbo awake anyway. He sat on his bed, blinking at the alarm clock. 2 am. His initial thought was that Smeagol had had a nightmare of his past life again, and was trying to comfort himself by doing some noise to break the disturbing silence of the house. He sighed, settling back onto his pillow and trying to find sleep again. But it eluded him, because his earing sense were caught once again by the sound.

It was definitively not Smeagol. It was nothing like the sound of pawn nails on the tiles of the kitchen floor, usually coupled with soft whimpering. In fact, it sounded like someone was trying to force the door. He sat up once again, fully awake this time. Was someone truly trying to brake into his house in the middle of the night ? Well, they weren’t exactly doing a good job, apparently. Bilbo wasn’t exactly known for being a heavy sleeper, but to be honest, the scratch would have awoken the dead. Insistent, it became louder, as if the person was getting frustrated.

 

Be brave, Bilbo Baggins, he thought to himself, slowly rolling out of bed and grabbing his dressing gown, a patchwork colourful thing absolutely hideous, but oh so warm and cosy. Walking down the stair, he wondered briefly why Smeagol wasn’t at the door already, producing his hallmark throaty groan, but then he remembered that, around strangers, the hound tended to flee, and sometimes lurk around to spy on them. Not exactly the bravest dog ever. Not that Bilbo needed one of those. But the thought of the dog vanished as he stepped onto the wooden floor of the entrance. A voice was coming from the other side of the front door, but Yavanna turn him into a rose bush if this was the voice of a burglar.

 

\- Moron gave me the wrong key. I swear to Mahal, if I enter I … I … hm … nevermind, I’ll find something.

 

Bilbo nearly laughed upon hearing the obviously drunk voice. He didn’t, though. He still had no idea who this person was, and why he was trying to force his door, after all. At least, he didn’t seem to have bad intention. Well, not towards him, he guessed. Whoever the person he was talking about was, the accountant was almost certain that it wasn’t him. He would know soon enough, anyway, he thought while grabbing the keys from the bowl in the entrance’s table.

The opening of the door revealed a man in his mid thirties, with dirty blond hair and two dark blue eyes that widened in surprise when faced with Bilbo. He grumbled, while Bilbo was still struggling to understand who that was. He was certain that he knew him. But how ?

 

\- He is living with someone these days ?

 

It suddenly hit him. He was there when Thomas moved in, a couple of weeks ago. The accountant gasped as the man was still trying to put two plus two together and scratching his hair.

 

\- You … are you Frederick Durin ?

\- Ah yes, that’s me. Er … and who are you ? Thomas’s boyfriend ?

\- What ?

 

What the hell was this man talking about ? Why would he be … Oh but yes. He thought he was into his brother’s house. That would explain why he was trying to force the door and got frustrated when he couldn’t enter. He still held the key firmly in his hand.

 

\- No, I’m his neighbour. I think you’ve got the wrong house, Frederick. May I call you Frederick ?

 

The man stared into the void for a second, before shrugging.

 

\- Yeah, yeah. It’s my name, isn’t it ? You can call me Fred, even. Everybody does. Except Thomas. He has a thing for calling people by their whole name and avoiding nicknames. Never understood why.

 

He stopped his rambling, scratching the light beard on his chin now and gazing at the key in his hand.

 

\- So … that’s why it didn’t work.

\- I guess so.

\- I must be a bit drunk, then. Am I drunk ?

\- Yes, Fred, you definitively are.

 

The man all but whined.

 

\- Thomas’s gonna kill me. No, first he’s gonna lecture me, then he’s gonna put my head under cold water, and then he’s gonna kill me.

 

Bilbo was thorn between laughing, and feel pity for the man. He didn’t know how Frederick Durin was in his normal state, the daydreaming adult he had seen carrying boxes in Thomas’s garden not giving him much of a hint, but drunk Frederick was a big whiny baby, that was for sure. Bilbo started to think that Thomas was the responsible one in the family. Sighing, he finally decided to have pity for him, and gestured towards the inside of his house.

 

\- Do you … want to come in, until you’re sober enough ?

 

The man’s face lit up, and he took Bilbo’s hand in his to shake it forcefully.

 

\- Oh, you’re saving my life. Thank you.

 

Sitting in Bilbo’s kitchen, much like his brother a few days ago, Frederick almost look solemn. A drunk and slightly off-balance kind of solemn, granted, but solemn nonetheless. He was looking around him at the kitchen, face void of expression, but eyes obviously darting around in some sort of haze and carefully observing. He barely moved when Bilbo set a glass of fresh water in front of him, focused on his silent gazing. He stirred from it when the accountant sat down in front of his own mug of coffee -sleep wouldn’t come back anyway, he could sense it- and talked to him.

 

\- So … where did you go to end up in such a state ?

 

Bilbo’s question wasn’t entirely innocent. Years of tending to younger cousins who preferred going to him, the only adult who didn’t welcome them with judgmental talk-downs, had taught him to navigate through drunken or drugged –or both- teenagers and young adults. He mastered the art of learning exactly what someone had taken, and how much.

 

\- Hm … Blue Mountains, I think the name was.

 

Bilbo sighed in relief. He had been afraid it would be the Arkenstone, or worse the One Ring. Those were highly dangerous bars for those who didn’t know better. Lots of drugs circulating which you could never be sure of what exactly was in them. He had heard of a guy called Isidore Elendilson who had died of an overdose after a night at the latter. He had been fresh and new in town when this arrived, but Boyd had made sure to warn him thoroughly about those two places. But Blue Mountains was a nice place. A friendly pub with cheerful and welcoming people. It was actually one of Boyd’s favourites for a pint or two.

 

\- Went there to catch up with a friend. Might have had more beers than was necessary.

 

Bilbo hummed, sipping his coffee while Frederick gulped the water down quickly, wincing slightly as the cold liquid made its way through his throat.

 

\- Are you sincerely sure that your brother will be crossed with you ?

\- Thomas ? Obviously.

 

He snorted, then paused to study Bilbo’s face for a while.

 

\- What ? Don’t tell me you haven’t seen Sir Grumpy-Cat yet ?

\- Oh, I … I think I have seen him already. But surely it’s not that bad ? I mean, you are an adult, he is not going to … what … ground you or something.

 

Frederick let out a bark laugher, but sobered again to look at Bilbo pensively.

 

\- I’m his little brother, and Thomas does have this … control-freak thing … behaviour. He reacts pretty badly to things he can’t control. He used to mother-hen me like … real hard. Daisy could get away with it, but only because she was able to tell him to fuck off. They don’t have much of an age gap anyway. Me … ah … I guess I’ll forever be the baby he needs to protect. Not that he needs much to get into “full protective mode”.

 

Bilbo looked into the depth of his cup, thinking. He had guessed as much, to be honest. The “I need to control things” way Thomas had. He doubted it was with megalomaniac intentions, though. There was certainly something more to this, a sort of vulnerability Bilbo was absolutely sure he had caught a glimpse of when he had come to the man’s rescue. Maybe Thomas didn’t want to let things slip from his control because he was afraid that something would go wrong. A sort of prepare for any eventuality and hope that you had planned every scenario possible theory. He hummed again, looking back at Frederick with a smile.

 

\- Are you living in town, too ?

 

He shook his head, clumsily reaching for the jug of water as he answered.

 

\- No. I live in London, actually. I … needed to put some distances between me and this city here.

\- Oh ?

\- Yeah, yeah. My … it has been hard for us, for a while.

 

He drank more water, then patted the pocket of his jacket, from where he fished a pack of cigarettes.

 

\- D’you mind ?

\- Not at all, go on.

 

Frederick lit up one with one of those plastic lighters which came in neon colours. This one was a shockingly bright shade of orange. He proceeded to extract a few other things from his pockets while answering, looking at them intently as if trying to find if something was lacking … which was probably what he aimed to do.

 

\- After my mom died, my father decided to leave to … travel the world, and document it with all the things he and her had planned to do. His own words, not mine.

 

He was toying with a brownish Swiss army knife, frowning.

 

\- We were still very young, especially me. We stayed at our grandfather’s, but he was working hard and … let’s say he had his temper, among other things. We sort of … were on our own for the most part.

 

Keys and a wallet followed the knife on the table, and Fred seemed entirely focused on both his stuff on the table, and on his speech, and it was as if he had forgotten about Bilbo and was talking to no one in particular.

 

\- Daisy had a phase when she was a menace, always making the wrong decision and fucking up opportunities. Thomas had taken the role of the “dad”, and he was always trying to make things better, to keep us on tracks. I was a moody teenager who thought he knew better, and Daisy too, and he had his own life and future to deal with, but he had always done the job. We hated him for a while. Your sibling is not supposed to act like your parent. There is a role for everybody, but at that moment, nobody else was doing it, so it was only him.

 

It was coming bits by bits, a bit confused, but Bilbo had no trouble putting the pieces together. It wasn’t the kind of story you could just explain logically and in the right order, anyway, he suspected. By nature, it came as it was felt. The accountant could just nod and let him talk, not daring interrupt what he felt was a very much needed confession. Frederick now had his hands around his glass, silver ring tapping lightly against it as he kept talking.

 

\- It took me a while to understand what Thomas had been doing for us exactly. It took me … well … moving to London to complete my college education, learning to take care of myself without my big brother to handle responsibilities for me, getting disappointed by love and society, working crap jobs where I learnt to keep my mouth shut. The usual. It took me living without my brother always clearing the path for me, which I could only achieve by moving the fuck out of here.

 

He finished his glass, and, as if he had awoken after a hypnosis session, looked up at Bilbo with a smile.

 

\- So, no, I don’t live here. I am more than happy to drive back here a week-end a month, see my siblings, my nephews, and old friends, but that’s it. I’m glad to see them, not to live around them.

 

Bilbo didn’t know what to respond to that. He knew the feeling, too. He had moved here for the exact same reason, leaving Hobbiton, Gloucestershire to live his own life away from his large and annoying family’s pressure. He watched as Frederick looked at his watch, frowning. He had sobered a great deal since he had been sitting in the kitchen, and Bilbo wasn’t sure if it was more the water’s doing or his storytelling. The blond sighed deeply.

 

\- I should go, now. I think I’m ok enough.

 

Frederick put all of his stuff back into his pockets and they both stood before Bilbo led him to the front door, shaking his hand again, but with much less force this time.

 

\- Thank you very much for your kindness erm … I’m not sure I caught your name.

\- Oh, Baggins. Benjamin. But just call me Bilbo.

\- Ok. Thank you again, Bilbo.

\- Not a problem. Stay safe.

-Yeah, I’ll try.

 

He chuckled, and turned around one last time before disappearing in the darkness of the garden.

 

\- Though, I’m afraid I’ve lost my phone.

 

Bilbo laughed one last time at this, and closed the door behind him, a strange mixture of mirth and melancholia in his guts. What a life Thomas Durin had been living !

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It had taken me a bit more time for this one. Not for lack of motivation or idea, but because of my studying. I can't promise it won't happen again. As I'm also trying to work again on my two other fics, this could be a bit longer to write.  
> Also, I don't know if I said it already, but the title of this fic is a reference of the song by Simon and Garfunkel "In my little town". I love S&G (blame it on my dad), and this song is really nice.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What better way to shake off sleep deprivation than ... well ... litteraly shaking it off ? Well, Thorin isn't going to complain.

Frederick was his brother, and he loved him dearly, but sometimes, he was just too much too handle. Thomas hadn’t slept for most of the night while is brother was in town. Norman had said that he would give him a lift after they were done, so Thomas hadn’t been worried that he could be driving drunk. Norman was sometimes an idiot, but not a dangerous fool, and Thomas trusted him. So he had waited without worrying, reading quietly in the living room, Smaug snoring gently at his feet. He had been so engrossed in his book, and it had been enough to make him forget about the time, but when he had checked his watch, he had started worrying. The middle of the night, and Frederick had still not come back. He had tried to stay calm. Maybe Norman and him hadn’t seen time pass. But the watch had still counted the seconds, then the minutes, and nobody was coming home. He had panicked, purely and simply, pacing the living room with his hands trembling, ready for bad news to come.

The talk-down Frederick received when he had finally passed the door had been epic. And when Thomas had learnt that he had tried breaking into Bilbo’s house, he had been livid. What was the moron thinking ? Well, he wasn’t thinking, that was the point, wasn’t it ?

 

Long story short, Thomas Durin had left the house the next morning at what he expected was a decent hour to go see his neighbour. He doubted that Bilbo had gotten much sleep the night before, with someone trying to force his door and keeping him awake with his –without any doubt- drunken babbling. Frederick was still sleeping in the guest room, forming a messy pile of tangling limbs and hair with Smaug, a habit the dog had taken during their grandfather’s last year when he would jump into the old man’s bed to cuddle with him and offer some warmth. It broke Thomas’s heart a bit every time the dog was doing this, but he supposed it was Smaug’s way to be useful. Anyway, Thomas was going to apologize on his brother’s behalf, and offer his service to the man in compensation for the nuisance. He also had a bottle of French wine with him, just in case.

 

He heard the music through the door when he approached the house. One of those really popular songs which, Thorin had to admit, had a really groovy rhythm. He didn’t know that this was the kind of music his neighbour favoured, but you can never swear to know people’s tastes before you get to know them a bit more. The tall man smiled to himself, and went to knock on the door. A few times. It soon became obvious that Bilbo couldn’t hear, probably due to the music, and wouldn’t answer the door. Hesitant, Thomas decided to try and enter, blinking at finding the door unlocked, and he took a few steps inside the house, craning his neck and trying to call for his neighbour.

 

\- Bilbo ?

 

But no reply was coming. Sighing, he went searching for the origin of the music, certain that he would find Bilbo nearby. It was coming from the kitchen, and so Thomas made his way to the room. He had to stop at the door, though, because the sight he was greeted with was … fascinating. Bilbo was indeed in the kitchen, but he was also clad in pyjama trousers with no top on, and dancing to the beat of the music enthusiastically. He was also singing. Badly, sure, but he was.

 

\- Make a dragon wanna retire maaaaaaan !

 

Thomas would have laughed in any other circumstances, but here he was, standing awkwardly at the kitchen’s door, looking at the man and strangely captivated by the sight. Bilbo was all soft curves, with a delicious tummy and squishy hips that Thomas felt he wanted to grab and run his thumbs across. And what a lovely skin, smooth and rosy, covered in freckles. He was simply delicious.

It occurred to him, after what felt like an eternity but was probably closer to one minute or two, that spying on Bilbo when the man obviously didn’t know he was even here was a really bad thing to do. He looked at the kitchen floor briefly, embarrassed at his own lack of privacy and needing to regain some countenance, and cleared his throat.

 

\- Ahem … Bilbo ?

 

The man froze, and turned slowly to face him. The blush that crept on his face and neck was mighty. It was like witnessing a fire catching on a dry pasture. Thomas barely managed not to groan at his own stupidity. What had he done ? “

 

\- Oh dear. Thomas. I uh … it’s rather embarrassing. I was just…

\- No, Bilbo, sorry. I shouldn’t have entered like this.

 

They looked at each other for a moment, none of them daring to move or say more, before Bilbo remembered that he was indeed shirtless, and went to retrieve the top of his pyjama from a chair. Half of Thomas wished he hadn’t, and the other half wanted to slap the first half.

 

\- Ah, well. I guess I should get use to you Durins breaking into my house ?

 

This time, Thomas did groan.

 

\- Sorry. This is why I’m here, actually. I’m no better than my brother, though.

 

Bilbo smiled at him, trying to fix the curls that had been disturb when he had put on the shirt. Not that he was much successful.

 

\- Don’t worry, I’m only jesting. The whole neighbourhood has a thing against privacy, I believe. So, what can I do for you ?

\- Nothing. Actually, I came to see if I could do something for you … to … apologize for my brother’s behaviour.

 

Bilbo tilted his head, honey hair following the movement and catching both the morning light and Thomas’s eyes.

 

\- Then your brother should be the one apologizing, not you. And I really don’t need his apology. We’ve all had our moments of … weirdness, he did nothing bad. I’m glad he didn’t end up somewhere on the side of a road.

 

Thomas nodded slowly, but didn’t find his voice to say that he, too, was glad. Bilbo had a blunt way to say things, but he had to admit that he was right.

 

\- Though, if you feel like you should help … well, I might have some job for you.

 

Bilbo grinned at him, and Thomas wondered briefly if it would be too big a mistake to try to kiss that grin away. He didn’t. Obviously.

 

They ended up in Bilbo’s garden. It was lovely, even for a novice’s gaze like Thomas’s. Magnificent bushes, lush honeysuckle climbing the wooden pillars of the terrace, and soft green grass. The perfect garden to retire to after an exhausting day at work. Thomas thought of his own, just on the other side of the fence, probably going to turn rough and desolate as he wasn’t exactly one for gardening. What would the neighbours think of that, now. All of them seemed to take great pride in theirs, and he felt oddly misplaced. He would have to consider hiring someone to tend to his, perhaps. Maybe there was a rule here to banish anyone whose garden didn’t reach the standards ?

Bilbo was pointing at the little tool-shed in the corner of the garden, which had clearly suffered a few minor damages. The strong winds of last February were apparently responsible for it, and indeed a few planks seemed to have been half ripped from it. Bilbo turned to him, smiling and his eyes pleading, and Thomas knew he couldn’t say know. He didn’t really want to say no, and he had come here to help the man after all. He smiled back, and got back to work without a hesitation.

 

It was nice. The weather was relatively good, the sky clear, and Bilbo, still in his pyjamas, had sat on the grass with two mugs of warm coffee, and was watching him work while talking, so Thomas didn’t feel too lonely. Even Bilbo’s hound was looking at him through the kitchen window, probably trying to figure out if he was a threat or not. As Bilbo didn’t seem too frightened, the dog probably ended up considering he was all right, because he finally joined them and started playing around in the grass, following insects enthusiastically, and emitting throaty barks. This was so calm and relaxing. He could get used to this kind of life.

But real life had to remind him its existence, and that there was a difference between expectations and reality. Of course. Thomas nearly jumped out of his skin when his brother’s voice shouted out of nowhere.

 

\- Hiii, brother ! Hiii Bilbo ! How are you, by this fine morning ?

 

Well, not exactly out of nowhere, but from the top of the fence, on which Frederick was leaning with a smug look that Thomas couldn’t explain, but shouted catastrophe to come. What was the bloody idiot going to invent, now ?

 

\- What do you want ?

\- What ? Nothing. Cooked some food to say sorry. Thought you wanted some.

\- You should say sorry to Bilbo, not me.

\- I’ve got something in the stove for him.

 

Bilbo, whose ears had turned inexplicably red, interrupted them.

 

\- Oh, you didn’t have to, Fred.

\- No, no, I insist Bilbo. I don’t have a habit of running away from my responsibilities.

 

He gave a pointed look to Thomas, who ignored him in return and preferred busying himself with putting the tools back on the shed.

 

\- So … Bilbo. Enjoying the view ?

\- The … ah … view ?

\- Yes … of your garden under the lovely spring light.

\- Oh, right, yes. Of course. It’s rather lovely.

\- Lovely ? Indeed.

 

What the hell were they talking about ? Was his brother still drunk ? Thomas sighed, trying very hard not to roll his eyes at his brother, as he feared that Bilbo would take it for himself. He breathed through his nose, trying to remind himself that his brother was a grown-up, despite some of his attitude, and that he couldn’t tell him what to do and how to behave. Not all the time at least.

 

\- All right, Frederick. I’ll be here in a moment. I just need to finish fixing this.

\- Okay Thoza.

 

Thomas let out a grunt, and barely resisted throwing a plank at Frederick. Barely. Baby brothers were created to destroy their sibling’s life, obviously.

 

\- Thoza ?

\- Yes, well. It’s something Daisy used to call … when she couldn’t articulate. I wish my brother didn’t have such a good memory, sometimes.

 

Bilbo started laughing, and Thomas probably hammered the last nail with more strength than was absolutely necessary.

 

\- It sounds cute.

\- It was cute when we were kids. Not so much now.

\- Oh, dear. Are you always this grumpy ?

 

Thomas gave the last hit against the shed, and turned back to Bilbo.

 

\- You don’t understand ! He says that around people I …. Around people … to make me look silly.

\- And now you’re whining.

 

Bilbo’s grin widen, and he stood up from his spot on the grass.

 

\- He is trying to make you look nicer and more human in front of people. He’s not some evil mastermind with a cunning plan to make you fall from your high throne, relax.

 

Thomas wasn’t so sure about this. He put the tools back in the shed, checking if the door was opening and closing well, and followed Bilbo inside. Bilbo was a truly remarkable person, always trying to find the good side of things, always willing to see the good inside others, even when they did things that should have annoyed him. Was he always so kind ? Thomas wished he himself could be as positive, sometimes. Contrary to popular beliefs, he wasn’t proud of being a Grinch. He would have loved to be less difficult. He just couldn’t. It was as if his brain had been set to look at things through grey lenses, always planning for the worst. But he knew that Bilbo was right. Things were not specifically designed to bugger him. It just happened, sometimes, that things could bugger him. Yes, he could keep telling himself that, but he had the feeling that it wouldn’t stop his brain from thinking the exact opposite.

He thought of it when he entered his own kitchen a few minutes later, and found Frederick shaking to the beat of Billie Jean –maybe it was the international move your booty to funky music day and he wasn’t aware. He had spent so much time thinking of his siblings as ‘unwanted duty thrown at him’ that he had just forgotten to enjoy their existence.

 

Though, the mischievous grin Frederick sent his way when he turned around was a good reminder of one thing : his brother was indeed a cunning little s…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long. Finals are approching really fast (like, in 3 days litteraly) and I had to work on that. I also did an office!au for the Bagginshield Anniversary (because apparently, I like to make myself suffer).  
> So ... yes. Sorry for this. 
> 
> I intended to write another chapter instead of this one, but got a little stuck, so I decided to write this one before (my chapter are essentially based on prompts and ideas I collected on tumblr, so I have a full stock that I'm planning to use for this, which is why the order seem a bit ... hectic).


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What is better than enjoying a beautiful garden in the late spring weather ? Well, the possibility of great food and good company, of course !

Spring had always been Bilbo’s favourite season.

He loved with a burning passion being able to spent time in his garden, with the company of nature. Younger, when he still lived with his parents, he would follow his father around the garden each year, witness the progressive bloom of the flowers surrounding them, marvel at the shining and green grass under his bare feet, study the habits of insects, watch with delight the growth of the fruits on the trees that would soon been turned into succulent jams and pies. As a child, he would watch carefully, just in case they were fairies nearby, telling his mom on the evenings that he was sure he almost saw the flicker of translucent wings. As a teenager, he would help his father with the vegetables and thus start learning with more precision about the noble art of gardening. And now, as a grown up with his own life and his own garden, he would sit at the back of his house, comfortably settled in a lounge chair on the paved terrace with a book and just generally enjoy life.

But there was something that Bilbo loved more than gardens, to be honest, and it was food. If he had a way to mix the two in one event, he was absolutely ecstatic. The thing he loved with spring, and the progressive return of warmer weather, was that it was precisely the right moment to do just that.

 

And all of this could be resumed in one word : Barbecue.

As was the case every year since he moved in the neighbourhood, Randall Greenwood was throwing his traditional Late Spring Barbecue, to which the whole street was generously invited, families and all. It usually resulted in a giant confusing meeting of people laughing, talking loudly, and generally ending drunk floating in the pool as soon as the children were napping. Exactly the kind of havoc Bilbo usually tried to avoid, but he did like garden and food … and he had to admit that Randall had the most gorgeous wisteria he had ever seen in his life, while his husband Bart cooked a mouth-watering fish barbecue. Bilbo was a week man, and he couldn’t let the occasion pass, noisy neighbours be damned.

 

And so, there he was, standing in the middle of the Greenwood-Bowman’s garden, drinking a coconut, orange juice -and he wasn’t sure what else- cocktail from a glass with one of those silly paper umbrellas in it and trying not to fall over because of the flow of kids running around. It was hard to maintain the hallmark British phlegm amidst the chaos, but Bilbo thought he was handling it pretty good so far. So far. Because he’d never been one to have much fate, so things were definitively bound to go downhill at some point, weren’t they ? “Things” had to take the form of Thomas Durin, of course. Bilbo was watching Randall’s son, Logan conversing with hid dad’s secretary with a grim expression on his face, and trying to read the young adult’s lips to guess what he was so moody about in such a pleasant event, when Things happened.

The bastard had to wear his tightest shirt, obviously. And white, on top of that, if you please. Bilbo was definitively not staring at his chest, finely enhanced by the accursed –or blessed- clothing. Yavanna was testing his strength.

Of course, he had to find him in the sea of neighbours, being taller than most people, and marching towards him with a smile and a wave. Just his luck. Gulping down the rest of his drink to give himself strength, Bilbo waved back, forcing himself to look perfectly natural, and not at all disturbed by the lovely sight Thomas constituted. Eru be blessed for raybans. At least, the accountant could hide his eager eyes rather easily. Now, if he could do the same with the idiotic smile he felt rising, that would be amazing.

 

\- Hey, Bilbo !

 

Thomas reached him finally, avoiding little Tilda with the precision of someone who had experience with children.

 

\- To be fair, I’m glad to see you here. I can’t say I’ve met a lot of people around except you and Alfred. Should have, really, but I didn’t have much time to do so.

\- Oh, don’t worry. People around here are friendly, but they can be too much too handle, sometimes. There’s nothing wrong in taking your time to meet them at your own pace. Don’t let them pressure you into thinking otherwise.

 

He had tried to reassure the man, but Thomas looked slightly more uncomfortable, actually. He was now casting weird looks around him, as if he was expecting people to jump on him to demand explanations as to why he hadn’t introduced himself to them yet.

 

\- They’re not that bad, don’t worry. It’s just that… well, it’s a small community. People know each-other. But they are very welcoming, I promise.

 

He thought of his hometown. Now this was an example of rural part where people tended to see strangers badly, when they were not downright ignoring them to let them know that they weren’t wanted around. He hated this kind of spirit, which was partly why he had relocated to a less removed place. He still liked the lifestyle of a more country-side area, but he liked being closer to the city. Here, it was a reasonable size, with still enough human contact, but not too small and removed, so people could still see other people instead of just being stepping on each-other’s feet all the time. He smiled at Thomas, who seemed slightly reassured, but only slightly.

 

\- If you say so…

\- I do. They’re enthusiast, but not mean.

 

As if on queue, the slender figure of Randall emerged from the kitchen with more cocktails. Speaking of someone who wasn’t mean but certainly an armful, and often misjudged for his exuberance, he certainly was a good example. He stopped in front of them, handing a cocktail which smelled as if it contained mint, if Bilbo’s nose didn’t betray him, which rarely happened, to Thomas.

 

\- Hello hello, didn’t know what you liked, so ... have this.

\- Thank you.

\- Randall makes the best cocktails.

\- Why, thank you Bilbo.

 

The man then left, surely to tend to other guests, walking around people gracefully, as if he were literally sliding on water. Bilbo was admirative of the man’s easy movements and of his good looks. His outfit was always on point, his skin smooth and perfect. The accountant wasn’t jealous, no, he had always considered it a waste of time and energy to desire what someone else had, and he preferred using those to work his own arse and get what he wanted. But everything looked perfectly effortless with Randall, and obviously it left Bilbo in awe.

On top of that, Randall was extremely active in the neighbourhood, and this barbecue was just a small fraction of all the things he did to make life around here friendlier. He was always ready to do so, while being the successful boss of his own firm which sold natural beauty products, coming from fair trade and biological agriculture. And to say that Bilbo felt that he didn’t have the time most weekend for all the lazy hobbies he wanted to enjoy. What was the man’s secret ?

He sighed, tearing his eyes away from the man, and turning back to Thomas to find the man staring oddly, not at Randall, but at him. There was something insistent in his eyes, and he was frowning as if something was clearly displeasing him. Bilbo blinked, surprised by this look focused on him, and tilting his head to the side.

 

\- Something’s wrong Thomas ?

 

The taller man didn’t reply. He shrugged instead, but not managing to supress the frown off his face.

 

\- No, I was … just wondering what was in this cocktail. Must have gotten lost in my thoughts.

\- Oh, okay.

 

Bilbo wasn’t convinced by his explanation, but if Thomas didn’t want to tell him, well, he wasn’t going to force him. He looked at his own empty glass, pouting.

 

\- Wouldn’t be opposed to another one myself.

 

 

Which he ended up finding and drinking, of course. And then a third one, for good measure. He had just forgotten something important about this drink, though, over the course of the afternoon : coconut and orange juice weren’t the only ingredients that composed the drink. There was also rum in it. A healthy dose of rum, which taste was concealed by the other two flavours.

He could pride himself in not being the one floating fully clothed on the pool, though. At least, he had the decency to stay out of the water. But, to say that he wasn’t feeling too fresh in the end would be an understatement. He found himself spread on one of the lounge chair, a plate of fish in hand, and digging into it with energy, and an appetite that the alcohol had only increased. All of this would have been perfectly normal, of course, if it hadn’t been for who it was sharing the lounge chair with.

 

How could Thomas and him fit perfectly on it was a mystery in itself.

 

The man was sitting with his arms folded on his chest, watching the rest of the party around them with another intense frown –or maybe it was the same frown that just hadn’t disappear all this time, Bilbo wasn’t sure anymore- as if they were all offending him. The accountant didn’t even want to wonder why. Thomas had seemed annoyed ever since he had seen Randall, though Bilbo couldn’t fathom why exactly. Sure, Randall could be too much, sometimes, but he didn’t do anything wrong this time, he had actually offered the man a drink, which was seen as nice and respectful in most societies around the world, for sure. Something had buggered Thomas, and he had taken to drink his cocktail on his own without trying to talk to anybody. He even seemed to radiate hostility. At first, Bilbo had try to understand what was happening to him, but it had been met with such a blank expression that he had given up after a while. It didn’t prevent them from ending drunk on the same lounge chair some times during the afternoon, and Bilbo couldn’t, for the life of him, remember exactly how and why it happened, but here they were.

 

He nudged the taller man in the ribs, pointing at the pool where Carl Lorien was floating and humming to himself contently, his pale face having turned into a bright pink. He giggled at the sight, and he could feel Thomas’s chuckle echoing inside his chest. At least he wasn’t acting cold to Bilbo’s attempts at communication. The accountant was actually the only person who seemed to get a positive response from him. Other had tried… and failed.

It was funny, Bilbo thought, how Thomas could be this kind, open, and –yes it could be said too- friendly person most of the time, but could also turn into a brooding mess and frowning idiot sometimes. It didn’t feel exactly as if he was witnessing two different persons in one, though, because Bilbo suspected that those two sides of his were prompted by the same deep and personal feelings… sense of duty, self-esteem slightly off-balance, absence of self-preservation and a certain need to be on top of any competition. All of those, and maybe more, were certainly how you obtained this cocktail of charming and commanding, and yet gloomy and grumpy.

Still, it didn’t explain why the man was acting so strangely right now. Too many people ? He didn’t seem the type to be afraid of a crowd, but you never know. Or was it the heat that made him uncomfortable ? He couldn’t tear his thoughts away from this crucial question. The afternoon had started well… or as well as this kind of event could be, in Bilbo’s opinion. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what had bothered his neighbour.

 

What a gorgeous afternoon, anyway, he marvelled, putting his fork back on the now empty plate, and putting it on the nearby rotten coffee-table. Considering how bad it could have turned, he was actually rather content. Two years ago, Theodore Eorlingas had blown up the inflatable castle Bard had literally spent hours fixing for the kids with a barbecue pick. Another year -was it three or four years ago ?- the Peredhel twins had gotten into a fight with the Gundabad kid, who admittedly was a dreadful kid, but still and they had been sent back home by their extremely displeased father before Randall had brought the cake. No, rally, all things considered, this year was a good year. Shame Thomas didn’t seem to enjoy it as much as he did. Maybe he should tell him the numerous fails this event had suffered through the years ? Maybe that would make the man more comfortable and cheerful ? Hm, yes, he should definitively do that. Why ? It was a shame, really to be this gloomy on such a pleasant day !

And, with that last thought, he fell asleep, his head rolling on Thomas’s shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Bilbo, you are so oblivious !  
> Sorry for the delay. Exams got in the way (I passed, if you’re interested in knowing, youhou !), and then there was a little Eurovision one-shot … which turned into a four chapters story (I’m halfway through it) x)   
> It should be easier to write now, but I have a few things I am writing too, so I don’t want to make any promises.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas had just wanted a cereal bar from the vending machine, for Mahal's sake. Why do bad things happen to good people ?

\- Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.

 

It was one of those days. You know the kind. The days in which everything seems to silently, inexorably, converge to one final point of frustration and disaster. Mahal’s hairy chin, he had just wanted a damn cereal bar, how did this happen ?

Thomas Durin was in a bit of a predicament. Well, that was an understatement. He somehow managed to get his hand stuck inside a vending machine, the kind that sells sweets, cans of drinks, among other delicious guilty pleasures that he liked to buy and sneak into his office to eat while reading his paperwork or working on his projects. This particular machine was located in a corridor down the hallway of his office building, a big all window tower which seemed to scream high tech looks and professionalism to the world. Nothing was too grand and modern for Erebor Architects, the firm he had inherited from his grandfather, and which reputation of quality and precision was well established across the country. The corridor was removed from the general crowd of people entering and leaving the buildings, which was both a good and a bad thing. Good because nobody was around to witness his shame, and his guttural grunts as he tried to remove his limb -and the candy in an ideal world- from the mechanical monster, and bad because… well, he could use a helpful hand to replace the one that was stuck in there, and to free him from that blasted machine.

 

On the bright side of things, the realistic part of his brain tried to tell the much grumpier side, was that it could hardly get worse. Or so he thought.

 

\- Thomas ?

 

Oh, he really shouldn’t have tempted fate, right ? He turned his head suddenly, managing to bang it lightly on the machine in the process. Here was Bilbo, standing in the corridor and looking as if he had stepped out of the void precisely to find him in the weirdest position ever. And to think that Thomas had spent the rest of the week-end feeling dumb for the way he had acted at the barbecue, thinking that there was no way he could ever be even more ridiculous than that.

He had been stupid, he knew that. Bilbo had been nothing but graceful to their host –their host for Mahal’s sake- and here he had been, taking it as a personal offense. What was wrong with him ? He was a grown up, not some four years old demanding attention and throwing a fit if he didn’t receive it. And yet, he had turned stone cold and brooding for the rest of the afternoon, cracking up a few smiles and grunt-like replies only when Bilbo tried to drag him into a conversation. Oh, he must have looked terribly confusing and annoying.

But apparently, this wasn’t the end of how dumb he could look.

 

\- Bilbo ! What… what are you doing here ? Uh, hello.

 

He resisted the urge to sigh loudly at his own awkwardness, while still trying to get his hand free, which was quite a perilous act, you’ll agree. As for Bilbo, well, he seemed to hesitate between second-hand embarrassment and hilarity. His little face was making its thing again, where all the muscles were contracted in an effort not to laugh, nose twitching slightly and a light frown on his clear metallic eyes. Thomas wanted to disappear into a hole in the ground and never come out of it ever again, or run away down the corridor to lock himself in his office. Something that wasn’t possible given his current situation, obviously. But the man ended up simply clearing his throat.

 

\- Hi ! I… uh… my firm is working with one which is located in this building and they needed papers delivered so I proposed to do it.

 

He motioned towards the big brown envelope he was carrying. Oh, indeed.

 

\- Ah, I see.

\- And you ?

\- Me ?

\- Yes, why are you here.

\- Oh, well… I work here. In this building I mean.

 

They looked at each other for a few seconds, none of them daring to move, Thomas even stopping his desperate attempts at freeing himself to better focus on Bilbo. Then the shorter man sighed, crossing the distance between them and putting his envelope on the floor next to the machine.

 

\- How did you stuck your hand there, if I may ask ?

\- You may. I tried to… get myself a cereal bar.

\- And then ?

\- It got stuck and I tried to retrieve it.

 

Bilbo was looking at him with an expression that Thomas couldn’t find any other word to describe as except “sassy”. Luckily, he didn’t comment, and instead bent next to him to try and take a look at the slot in which Thomas’s hand was disappearing. The taller man didn’t dare breathing or sighing too loud, afraid to trouble Bilbo’s focus and reasoning. He however started to feel tingles in his hand, and hoped that a solution would be found quickly. He forced his mind wandered to his files, carefully stacked in neat piles and awaiting for his return, and he caught himself just in time before groaning in exasperation when he realized that it wasn’t doing anything for his embarrassment, except maybe making him feel more fed up with himself. Why do bad things keep happening so much, he wanted to whine, but luckily didn’t. He had made himself foolish enough in Bilbo’s eyes for a month… potentially a year.

 

\- I think I understand how you did that. Here, let me…

 

A hole in the ground wouldn’t even be enough, Thomas thought as Bilbo bent some more, sliding his hand in the slot and grunting. Mahal have mercy for his poor soul. He almost jumped when he felt the man’s hand on his, trying to poke at his fingers, patting his palm, and whatever else he was doing. That really wasn’t going to end well.

He reflected on how it was certainly the closest physical contact he and Bilbo had had since they met. Well, if you excepted the awkward and impromptu nap the shorter man had taken on his shoulder last week-end, but this didn’t really count, as Bilbo hadn’t mean it. Beside, Thomas had quickly removed himself from the man’s side, tugging him carefully and leaving him alone on the lounge chair. He didn’t want to take advantage of Bilbo’s sleep, although he sure as hell wanted to stay exactly where he was. Except that, they hadn’t touched yet. It was… weird. Thomas would have loved to say that it was nice, warm, comfortable, but no. He liked Bilbo, no doubt on that part, but touching him, even just his hand, felt awkward. He didn’t know if it was the context, or more generally the fact that he wasn’t a terribly tactile person, siblings and nephews aside. He felt uncomfortable, and knew he had tensed at Bilbo’s touch. He tried not to, he tried to relax, but he couldn’t. It didn’t feel right, touching Bilbo like this, the contact of his hand against his, his breath as he tried to dislodge his hand from the machine. Even breathing his perfume felt wrong. Bilbo smelled like honeysuckle and freshly cut grass, and he hated himself for noticing.

And then, Bilbo tensed too, his face turning to look at Thomas towering him.

 

\- I… hm… this is rather embarrassing but…

\- What ?

\- I think… I’m stuck too ?

 

There was a question mark in his voice, as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was saying. Thomas closed his eyes, resting his forehead on the cold plastic surface of the machine and trying not to panic. Here they were, two morons with their hands stuck in a machine. How fucking hilarious.

 

How much time they spent like this, trying to find a way to free themselves and failing miserably at not making it look too awkward, Thomas was unable to tell. Could have been half an hour, could have been only two minutes. He started to wonder if somebody would actually find them at some point, scenarios of them spending days there, progressively starving and getting mad with each hour passing. It was ridiculous, he knew it, but he couldn’t help it. He just had a habit of assuming the worst, of constructing catastrophe stories in his head about things. It was something he had started doing after his dad left, a sort of escapism from the reality of his duties, in a really morbid way.

This didn’t happen, of course. Just as Bilbo contemplated at loud that some janitor was bound to appear at some point, or just someone wanting to buy a can or a candy, the sound of footsteps approached, and a gruff familiar voice rose.

 

\- Really should have bet with Glenn. Told him ya were stuck or lost somewhere !

\- Shut up, Dwaine, you useless prick, and get us out of there.

\- Of course, your Highness.

 

His best friend and employee could be glad that his hand was stuck in the machine, because he would have smacked him upside the head. Of course, the bastard knew, and of course he smirked contently at Thomas as he strode closer.

 

\- Oh, hm hello. I think I’ve seen you when Thomas moved in ?

 

The shorter man mused, trying to smile at the bald man approaching, who was in turn studying him with an interested expression.

 

\- Ya’re the neighbour.

 

Fine conclusion. Thomas was impressed that he had managed to reach it without glaring or looking generally threatening. Or maybe Dwaine had a better memory than he had given him credit for.

 

\- Yeah, he is. Glad we covered that out. Will you help us now or have you come to chat ? Do you want a cup of tea ?

 

He was letting his temper show a bit, but he did want to get his hand out, and he couldn’t really be blamed for that, right ? Beside, if he let those two have too long a conversation, he was afraid that Dwaine would find a way to embarrass him further. He was his best friend, after all, it was his job. And Thomas had teased his friend enough about his own little crush to fear that Dwaine would want to reciprocate. He knew the bald man would feel it, smell the crush in him as if sniffing the scent of rotten food. Mahal knew he didn’t need to appear any more ridiculous in front of Bilbo than was already the case.

Oh, yeah, of course he knew he had a crush. He was perfectly able to identify his feelings, thank you very much. He was forty-two, after all, not exactly a teenager cowering from his own feelings, and he had enough maturity and experience to know what a crush, or infatuation, felt like. It didn’t mean that he had to confess it, or make a show of it, and he would probably not even admit it on his death bed, but he knew what it was, most certainly. Anyway, he wasn’t ready for Dwaine’s teasing and all of that, which was unfortunately bound to happen at some point.

Bilbo giggled at his annoyance, while Dwaine shot him a funny look. He rolled his eyes.

 

It turned out that the blind man wasn’t much help either. He didn’t get as far as getting his own hand stuck in the machine with theirs, apparently he had a better sense of self-preservation, but that was his only merit, it seemed. To be completely fair to him, Thomas would have probably tried to shake the machine too, had he been in a position to try. Now, to say that it was as useless as trying to nail a portrait to a wall with a wet tuna would be an understatement. The only good point he saw, was that Bilbo seemed to find all of this rather funny, and his laugh sure was a delight to Thomas’s ears. This fact aside, the taller man felt exasperation and frustration rise inside of him with each unsuccessful minute, and it was becoming more and more difficult not to smash his own head on the machine to at least fall unconscious and be spared the embarrassment and growing sense of fatality.

His thoughts were interrupted by the distinctive click of a camera, and the three of them turned their hared stares at the source of it, a ginger man in his late thirties who looked positively smug.

 

\- You guys look absolutely ridiculous. Say “cheese” ?

\- Go fuck yarself Norman.

 

Norman fucking Rydder. He should have known. Only him could sneak on them at such an inappropriate moment.

 

\- Come on bro, this ain’t a way to talk to your future brother-in-law.

\- How do you… ? I’ve never… !

\- Oh, spare me. It’s not like you’re the most obvious moron on earth. Oh, wait, you are.

 

Thomas sighed loudly. Any other days, he would have enjoyed their little sparring conversation, maybe even joining Norman to help him tease Dwaine, but at that precise moment, he was rather fed up with their antics. He just wanted to retreat into his office and hide there for the rest of his life, or at least until Bilbo had had enough time to forget about his stupidity.

 

\- Norman, unless you know how to free us from that bloody machine, could you please leave us be ?

\- That could very well be the case.

\- What ? What could be ?

\- Why… freeing you, of course.

 

They looked at him as if he had grown a second head, and the ginger man looked at them with his sassiest expression.

 

\- Y’all are morons, I already knew that, though I would have thought that you Bilbo knew better than this lot.

\- Wait, how do you know Bilbo ?

\- Hm… mutual acquaintance.

\- Oh.

 

Thomas’s indignation decreased at the shorter man’s answer –or maybe it was his bright grey eyes looking at him with mischief- but he was still slightly suspicious. Norman wasn’t a bad lot. He wouldn’t trust him with his brother’s life, if it wasn’t the case. But he was… well, he did have a tendency to put himself into troubles, just for fun. And that could be terrifying, and stressful. It probably explained why his older brother’s hair was so grey even though he was still rather young.

Bilbo smiled fondly at the ginger man, but was tapping his foot lightly on the floor.

 

\- Well, if you please, Norman.

\- ‘Course, mister Baggins, sir.

 

Thomas watched, in shock, as Norman did as told, albeit with a smug smile on his face, without further ado. The man took something out of his inner pocket, a flat and long brownish case from which he fished some sort of tools that Thomas wasn’t sure he wanted to know about, given what Norman did next... which consisted in kneeling in front of the machine, stuffing the tools in the slot, and doing things… whatever it was. As long as it worked -and it did- Thomas didn’t care what it was.

Dwaine was staring at the ginger man with an expression of suspicion on his face, but didn’t comment. Norman’s reminder that he was, in fact, Oliver’s brother, and thus perfectly able to make his life harder, had suppressed any will he could have had to remark on the man’s weird skills. To be honest, Thomas didn’t even think that Norman was doing unsavoury business. He had probably learnt those tricks out of boredom, or because why-the-hell-not, but he wasn’t stupid enough to risk ending up n jail or something like this, was he ? At least he hoped for his brothers, because Dorian Rydders wasn’t exactly the kind of person to tolerate such a thing from neither of his siblings, and his punishment might be harder than that of an actual court of justice.

 

Thomas turned to Bilbo, rubbing his wrist in an attempt to make the horrible sensation of having ants running under his skin disappear. The shorter man was looking at his watch, and Thomas felt bad for having interrupted his errand.

 

\- So, er… sorry for the inconvenience.

\- Oh, it’s alright. I am not expected back at the office before half an hour, anyway. I’m waiting for reports to arrive on my desk, so I am totally free… which is why I’m the one dropping the files here, actually.

 

He gave Thomas a blinding smile which made the man feel warm and fuzzy inside, and prompted his own smile to appear on his face.

 

\- But, well, I should probably go now. See you, Thomas. Norman, and … er… sir.

\- Dwaine.

\- Charmed.

 

And with that, he waved at them and disappeared around a corner of the corridor. Thomas watched him leave for a moment, still gazing at where he had vanished. When he finally turned around to the other two men, they were looking at him with a smug and knowing expression.

Oh, Mahal. They weren’t going to give him peace, now, were they ?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ! I hope you like this chapter. :)  
> It's a prompt, as all the things I write for this au, but you owe [Radiorcrist](http://radiorcrist.tumblr.com/) to have Dwalin and Nori as guest stars. I needed to introduce them properly at some point, anyway, so it was perfect.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a nice holiday at his parents', Bilbo Baggins decides to try exercicing at a gym club to fit in his trousers again. Of course, being at a totally random place surely means that some randomly bumping into a certain someone is in order, right ?

It was deeply embarrassing, to say the least. He really had no idea what had possessed him to go there. Though, actually, he knew perfectly well what had prompted him to go. It just didn’t seem the best idea he ever had, retrospectively.

 

The thing was that Bilbo had just come back from his two-week holiday at his parent’s, and that meant coming back home heavier - much heavier in fact – than when he had left. That meant copious meals, and the more meals the better, lazy evenings chatting in the living room. That meant visiting each family member still living in the area, and they were a lot of them, with more tea and biscuits than one person should be able to swallow in one sitting. That meant that the only physical activity was gardening when the sun wasn’t too high in the sky. Long story short, that meant that the slightly chubby otter had rapidly morphed into an obviously round bear cub.

Now, Bilbo Baggins had never seen anything wrong with being soft and curvy on certain places. He enjoyed his healthy layer of fat. But he also enjoyed when his clothes still fitted him, and when his breath didn’t turn short and difficult after climbing up the steps of his own stairs. Without being self conscious or obsessive about it, he usually wanted to go back to where he was before his holidays, for those very practical reasons.

However, this year, he had decided to try a new way to do that. And that would be the gym club. Yeah… What on earth had made him think that this was a good idea ?

 

He was sitting on top of some electric bike, or whatever it was called, pedalling as regularly as he was able, sweating and wishing he had never come at all. His eyes were focused right in front of him most of the time in a desperate attempt to keep as much motivation as possible. Indeed, whenever his gaze turned to the other people in the training room, he was close to lose any faith he had in what he was doing – or trying to do.

There was a woman on a running machine, on the other side of the room, who seemed to possess the energy and endurance of a whole army of bulls. Part of Bilbo wanted to applause, and part of him wanted to call Mulder and Scully, because there was no way on earth this was humanly possible. Behind him, a man was lifting, and Bilbo could see him in a mirror if he turned his head to the left, and he would have sworn he could see all the veins in his arms pulsing from where he was. No, no, it was way better not to stare at the others, but to stay focus on his own small but steady progression.

 

Despite his careful attempt at minding his own business, though, he soon found something from which he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

 

If Thomas Durin, as a general rule, had to be one of the most splendid visions that nature had to offer, Thomas Durin wearing spandex and crossing the training room in long strides to reach a stepper, and starting to use said machine only a few feet away from him on his right, was a blessing from the Valar themselves. Yavanna forgive him, but all Bilbo was able to do was staring.

It wasn’t his first time seeing Thomas Durin in such an outfit, of course, the man being enthusiast about early joggings in the neighbourhood, but he was almost surprised by how fascinating it still was, as if it were the first time he saw him like this. It probably wasn’t good for his mental stability, something deep inside his brain said – probably a rest of Baggins side which had miraculously survived the sight.

 

There was probably something to be said about his ability to always cross Thorin’s path at some point. Ever since their first encounter in the coffee shop, they seemed unable to stay away from one another for very long. Call it fate, or whatever, but this was a fact. He had first reflected on this during his little vacation at his parents’, when he had felt as if something was missing, thought it had taken him two days to realise. He had become used to bumping into Thorin every couple of days, sometimes in the most random ways, and not seeing the man had left something lacking in his routine. For Eru’s sake, he had snorted, they weren’t married to each other, he should be able to survive sixteen days without seeing his neighbour at the market place, or appearing from behind a bush, or something equally ridiculous. But the fact was that he was used to him now, used to his quiet but strong presence, and it felt odd not to see him around. Oh, Bilbo, you sentimental moron, he had sighed, vaguely exasperated with himself and the embarrassing crush he knew was forming rapidly.

 

Just as he was contemplating whether he should make his presence known to Thomas, not wanting the man to start thinking that he was spying on him but wondering if he should interrupt the man’s training – and his own, for that matter – fate decided for him. Thomas Durin had finished his series of stepper and, climbing down the machine effortlessly, he turned around, eyes scanning for an electric bike to use. And, of course, it was easy for him to spot Bilbo half climbing down one, half turned to face him. The accountant was starting to think of escaping the embarrassment of explaining to him what exactly he was doing here, but he was pretty sure his legs would betray him and simply give up. They seemed to have turned to jelly suddenly, and he tried to convince himself it was purely the effect of the bike, but the Tookish part of him was too clever to buy that sort of lie.

He could only watch, helpless, as his neighbour walked to him, this ridiculously attractive smile of his plastered across his face and lighting his eyes beautifully.

 

\- Bilbo ! Hello. I didn’t know you were training here.

 

There was an obvious question in his voice, and Bilbo knew he was probably contemplating that he had never seemed much sporty, which was actually the case. Especially compared to someone as Thomas Durin who seemed to train hard and regularly, not the kind of man to sit idly on a lounge chair all day long with a book. Or maybe he was, for all that the accountant knew. Mens sana in corpore sano, or whatever. Bilbo smiled, trying to look confident and not wanting to give away his nervousness.

 

\- Ah, well, not really. I’m just starting, he replied, choosing honesty – not that he could fool Thomas regarding his training abilities anyway – just got some weight to lose.

 

He had mumbled the last part, looking down at his belly. When he looked up again, Durin was looking there too, and Bilbo’s cheeks grew heated, and no doubt a vibrant rosy colour.

 

\- Oh, well, you don’t necessarily need to lose weight, Thomas started almost absent-mindedly before adding abruptly : I mean… you shouldn’t feel pressured to. You look just great the way you are. Er…

\- Thank you.

 

Bilbo saved him, taking pity on his desperate rambling and the deep blush that was creeping on the man’s face.

 

\- I don’t feel pressured, don’t worry. I just want to fit in my trousers again.

\- Ah, yes. I see.

 

They kept smiling at each other, but falling into an awkward silence, neither of them knowing what to say then. Bilbo’s legs were still shaking slightly, and maybe it was exhaustion, after all. It occurred to him that the sweat and trembling were probably not the most glamorous look, and that he would have chosen something else than the very floral and very pink tee-shirt his cousin Drew had brought him back from Hawaii had he known that his handsome neighbour would have been here. Of course, Durin was wearing all dark blues and black, very typical of him, the colours complementing his gorgeous eyes and even the grey that was starting to appear at his temples. Sweet Yavanna, he was doomed.

 

\- So… how was your holiday ? Thomas tried at least.

\- Oh, nice. Very nice. Saw my parents… lots of cousins too. Family, you know. Nice but a bit too much to handle. I wasn’t too sorry to come back home.

\- I can imagine, yes, he answered, nodding slowly.

\- Do you… Bilbo hesitated, what about your family ? Is it just you and your siblings or do you have, like, cousins… ?

\- I have. They are quite far removed, though. There’s just us in my grandfather’s branch in fact. But we’ve always seen the others… my grandpa’s brother’s grandson, and then there’s my grandpa’s dad who had a brother who… actually Dwaine and I are cousins.

\- Oh, woaw. Well, that’s interesting. I’m used to removed cousins and all of this, on my dad’s side. But my mom’s got quite a lot of siblings, so they’re not too far in the tree.

\- Family dinners must be funny, I guess.

\- You don’t say, Bilbo laughed.

 

They talked some more about this or that while returning to their exercises, Thomas actually giving him advice on how to maximise his training without exhausting himself too much, and even landing him his towel. Bilbo was astonished by how at ease he felt when talking to the man. Not that Bilbo wasn’t a sociable person, in fact he was perfectly able to be friendly when he set his mind to it. It was just that… well, he didn’t really like being surrounded by people for too long. He enjoyed his time alone, and sometimes it was hard for him to make conversation past small talks and considerations about the weather. But with Thomas Durin, it was easier than with most people. He didn’t have to make an effort, he was naturally curious about him, wanted to learn more and to tell him about himself.

What he was wondering, on the other hand, was where all of this was leading him. He had a fairly good idea of the nature of his feelings, though it pained him to acknowledge it. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, and having a crush seemed rather inconvenient. He had been ready to give up on the idea of finding someone he fancied enough to build something with, now, after all those years spent alone. Not that he thought he was too old – he was merely forty years old, thank you very much – but he had his routine, his habits. Was there some space left for someone ? Only time would tell, he guessed.

Oh, well, there was also the matter of whether or not Thomas would be interested, obviously. This was certainly a more difficult point, one that Bilbo couldn’t answer for him. But there was plenty of time to solve this question, and investigate the man’s intention – or its lack – toward him. On the other hand, it could prove to be a good idea to figure out what he wanted to do himself, what were his own intentions toward Durin. After all, it wouldn’t do to keep acting like a love-sick moron if he didn’t want to do anything about the situation. He needed to take a decision soon.

 

The eyes of Thomas Durin, reflecting in the mirror in front of them, were making it more difficult for Bilbo to concentrate on this hard task. Deep, and blue, and light, they weren’t leaving the accountant, and his smile was blinding as they were exchanging stories about their respective dogs. It was all very easy and familiar, there was no doubt about it. But it wasn’t the only thing Bilbo had no doubt about. Yes, if Bilbo wasn’t sure of a lot of things regarding his relationship with his neighbour, at least he knew one with certainty… the bastard was damn gorgeous.

 

This left him absolutely confused and hesitant. So much, in fact, that he realized upon arriving at his house that he still had Thomas’s towel with him. Yet another proof that he had to do something about the situation, he sighed, putting the towel with the rest of his laundry in the machine. Well, he could always do what any sensible Baggins knew… do the chores to calm down. Thomas would have his towel back, fresh and clean, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is rather short and silly, but I liked the gym club prompt that led to it, and I needed to have a shorter chapter because I actually wrote two more chapter during my without-wifi-holiday which are linked to each other, and will actually see some progress in those two's relationship.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth is, all Thomas needs sometimes is a little push foward, and Fred knows it well...

\- Tell me, brother dear, when was the last time you got laid ?

 

Thomas Durin chocked on his coffee, nearly dropping his phone with the surprise. Well, Frederick did have a particular way to start a conversation, to use an euphemism. Eyes wide, Thomas tried to school his voice into a more casual, more natural tone. He didn’t want his brother to know he had hit a nerve, though the chocking was probably a good hint of this. And anyway, his voice was a tad higher than usual, and he had trouble finding his words. Surely this was proof enough, even for someone less clever than Frederick was, so he had no doubt that his brother had perfectly understood.

 

\- Wha-at ? Excuse me ? he managed somehow.

\- You know perfectly well what I’m talking about.

\- I am not discussing this with you.

 

The chuckle on the other side of the line sounded way too satisfied and Thomas contemplated throwing the phone at the wall in front of him for a moment. But seeing how it wouldn’t solve anything, he tried to rein in his temper, massaging his temples to chase the first signs of the headache. It was going to be a really unpleasant conversation, he believed. Sometimes, he suspected him to use the long distance between them to be the most annoying possible and see at what point Thomas would take his car to come punch him. Indeed, the lack of reaction from his brother only made Frederick push his luck further.

 

\- You know, I’m almost certain that the lovely Mister Baggins wouldn’t be opposed, if you asked him.

\- Mahal above, he growled, spare me your schemes.

\- Come on ! Try, at least.

 

Frederick had replied without faltering, the sudden serious undertone of his voice making Thomas wince, knowing all too well that his brother being serious was not to be taken lightly.

 

\- You are already acting like an old man, what with your habits, your meticulously tidy life, your dog… soon you’ll find yourself yelling at kids to get off your lawn, mark my words.

 

Thomas didn’t dignify this with a comment, and his brother sighed.

 

\- You are Forty-two, ok. You already wasted most of your youth for us.

 

At this, he wanted to react, but Frederick didn’t let him.

 

\- No, no listen… it’s a fact, ok. You spent years forbidding yourself to have fun because someone had to be here for Daisy and I. And we are grateful for this… well, at least I am. But you don’t have to, now. It’s ok, we’re grown up. Live a bit ! Go out and have fun ! Jump your lovely neighbour !

\- Please leave Bilbo out of this.

\- Well, I’d like to, but if the way he looks at you is any indication, I don’t think he wants to be left out of this… if you get my meaning.

\- Don’t be ridiculous.

\- I’m your brother, I’m supposed to be ridiculous. But I’m also right.

 

Fred couldn’t see him roll his eyes, but he probably guessed it. Thomas could hear his muffled laugher. Since when were little brothers giving love advice to their elders. He still remembered the “adult talk” two decades ago – an extremely embarrassing conversation to have with your little brother, but once again, there had been a lot of embarrassing occasions when Thomas had had to be the adult with his siblings. Maybe this was why having this current conversation with his brother felt weird. He was more used to be the parent, and he imagined it was the same embarrassment parents felt when their kids told them to have some fun. Or maybe it was just him who had an issue talking about this kind of things in general. Whatever. He wasn’t going to let his brother win this round.

 

\- I am perfectly able to find someone if I want, he muttered grumpily.

\- Oh, you stubborn idiot, of course you are. That’s not what I’m saying. I’m not saying that you can’t, I’m saying that you are too busy being a control freak to allow things to… just happen.

\- Am I ? he countered, well I bet you that I am perfectly able to… allow things to just happen.

\- Really ? I’d like to see that.

\- Yeah, perfectly. Saturday evening, I’m coming with… with Bilbo.

\- Ok. If you do, I pay your drinks.

\- Agreed.

\- Ok brother. See you on Saturday !

\- See you !

 

He ended the conversation with a sense of victory filling him to the chore. This sensation died very soon, though, as the realisation of what he had just done appeared in his mind with clarity. Oh, his brother had owned him totally. He had always been good at this, but knowing it didn’t mean that Thomas didn’t fall for it all the time, or almost all the time anyway. Taking his head in his hands, he tried to resist the urge to bang it on the coffee table. Well, now, he had three days to ask Bilbo or to face his defeat… and there was no way he would let Frederick win this one, or he would never hear the end of it.

 

 

He spent the following day worrying and, of course, worrying usually meant not doing anything of what he was supposed to be doing. He was buried deep in doubt, certain that all of this was doom to fail miserably. Obviously, Bilbo would laugh and slam the door at his face, the notion of spending his Saturday evening with him would seem entirely ridiculous to the accountant. Why would he want to have anything to do with him, right ? Yes, the man was nice enough, welcoming and open, but surely it was just his natural kindness and he wasn’t interested in becoming friends. No, this wasn’t going to work.

This was his chain of thought, and he kept it throughout the day, gazing outside the window of his office and at the city, thinking that Bilbo was here, somewhere nearby in the ocean of buildings and asphalt. This city-gazing didn’t bring him any solution, unfortunately. The pile of papers on his desk didn’t offer much help to solve his predicament either, and he spent the day like this, melancholic and trying to bury himself in his work to forget that he would have to talk to Bilbo, eventually. He even imagined that he could pretend that Bilbo had other plans, or was sick, to cover up for his cowardice, but he knew his brother wouldn’t buy it. Beside, now that he knew Bilbo, he could easily ask him to confirm, and it would lead to a much worse situation. He quickly dismissed the idea.

He had to gather courage, and ask the man, once and for all. After all, he could always move to the north pole if things were to turn badly and if Bilbo laughed at his face, right ?

 

Which is how he found himself knocking on Bilbo’s door the next morning. He could hear the loud bark of the hound, followed quickly by the sound of footsteps, and the door opened. Bilbo was wearing his improbable robe, a patchwork of different fabrics in earthy tones that should have looked ridiculous but were actually rather lovely and… well… very Bilbo. He frowned, confused, upon seeing him.

 

\- Thomas ? Good morning. Eh… do you need something ? Is there a problem ?

\- No, no problem. I, uh…, he hesitated, I was just wondering… My brother is in town tomorrow evening, and he asked me to join him and his friends to the pub… something quiet and nice, just a few friends, you see. And I wondered…

 

He stopped, looking up from his shoes to scan Bilbo’s face, in search of some indication that he should stop and turn heels quickly to pack his bag for the arctic. There was none. Bilbo’s expression was open – and how was it possible for someone to look so fresh and joyful so early in the morning was a mystery in itself – and there was even something in his eyes, something like expectation, or maybe hope, but that very notion seemed ridiculous to Thomas, who concluded his long and confused explanation, getting to the point.

 

\- I wondered if you would want to join us. I mean, my brother seems to like you, and er… I too, so it could be nice.

 

Well, it certainly wasn’t his most eloquent speech, but at least the cat was out of the bag now. You have to acknowledge small victories, sometimes. Now, the question was to know what Bilbo would have to answer to this. The man’s frown had disappeared, but he was looking at Thomas as if trying to decipher something, head tilted a bit to the side and an air of caution on his face. What was he looking for, Thomas wasn’t certain. Maybe he thought it was a joke, or a prank. But he apparently didn’t find what he was afraid to see, and so he also abandoned the caution too after a few seconds of silent examination. Bilbo smiled, his whole face illuminating with it as he nodded.

 

\- I would love to join you and your friends, Thomas.

\- Oh. Oh, nice. I… well, I see you tomorrow then. 7 pm ? I’ll come get you here.

\- Perfect. Have a nice day.

 

He spent the whole car ride to his office grinning, to the point where his jaw felt a bit sore when he reached the elevator. He didn’t really care, and couldn’t stop smiling. He even bore the hundredth account of Glenn’s son’s rugby game with a patience he didn’t know he possessed, going as far as to nod and add his own comments, much to the satisfaction of his employee slash friend slash cousin, who usually found only deaf ears to his stories except – ironically – his own brother’s, who was indeed suffering from hearing loss. But for once, Thomas listened to him with an angelic patience. He was way too satisfied to mind this little inconvenience. It even served to fuel his satisfaction further. Small victories.

He had done it. He had asked Bilbo out, and Bilbo had said yes. Well, in a way, he hadn’t exactly asked him out. He had just proposed an evening with a bunch of friends, and his brother. Ok, perhaps it was cheating a bit, but on the other hand, he had promised to come with Bilbo and he had never said that the man would be his date. Strictly speaking, he had done his part of the job. Two could play this game, he thought, smiling at the idea that he would play his brother and beat him at his own challenge. That being said, his little arrangement with the truth didn’t change the fact that Bilbo had agreed. He would still get to spend a nice evening in his company. Well, it wasn’t as if he could have Bilbo for himself only, of course, but if Frederick and their friends behaved, it could be a very fine evening.

 

He went back to city-gazing again, drinking his morning cup of coffee, but this time, unlike the previous day, with a smile of victory on his face. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he went as far as to type ‘Bring your money tomorrow, there’ll be beers to pay for’. He pressed send, still grinning.

The rest of his morning saw him attending a very important meeting on a big project they had incoming. He usually let Baldwyn lead those, preferring to take notes and add a few information here and there, but this time, he felt in the mood for leading the meeting, and present the project himself. He felt as if he were walking on the clouds that surrounded the building, light and unstoppable. He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket at some point, but of course he couldn’t read right away. As soon as he could retreat to his office, though, he took the phone out of his pocket to read the answer text with a smug look. ‘Am truly impressed. Congrats’. A very fine evening indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are moving forward a bit ! I let you guess what the next chapter will be about... ;)
> 
> 10th chapter... and more than 2k hits ! It's much more than what I had hoped for with this silly little story :o Thank you all very much !


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so, an evening is spent with good company and beers, and Bilbo Baggins isn't going to complain.

Bilbo was looking at himself in the mirror, wincing at his reflection. No, perhaps a waistcoat wasn’t the best idea for a simple evening at the pub. He would look overdressed and entirely ridiculous. He took off the piece of clothing. Better yet, but still lacking. He couldn’t pinpoint what exactly, but his attire felt off, either too much, or not satisfying. He guessed people went to the pub with casual clothes, but what Bilbo found casual was certainly very different from most people’s standards. Oh, bugger it all, he thought, it was just an evening at the pub, he wasn’t going anywhere fancy. And maybe that was the problem, really. He had no idea what he was supposed to wear exactly.

Or maybe the problem was that he was going there with Thomas Durin, and that he had been invited by the man, even. So long for his will to go slowly and to decide what he wanted before doing anything. As soon as his neighbour had asked him, the Took in him had started jumping up and down in excitement, wanting to say yes right away. But the Baggins side had been there too, always cautious, and whispering that maybe it was some sort of joke. It was silly, of course, Thomas wouldn’t be childish and cruel enough to do this sort of things.

 

And now here he was, rummaging his dressing in search for the perfect outfit. You would think that having a whole room dedicated entirely to holding his clothes and accessories would be enough to always have the ideal outfit, but apparently not. Bilbo was in the exact situation as so many people in the world, especially less than an hour before going out with their crush… he didn’t find anything suitable to wear. He suspected that nothing in the world would feel suitable, though, even if he could access any article of clothing ever created. He was just nervous to make a good impression.

This wasn’t a date, he kept telling himself to chase away his nervousness. They wouldn’t be alone, no, there would be Fred too, and some of their friends, whoever they were. It was a safe guess to say that they were the same friends who were with Fred the night he had tried to break into Bilbo’s house, though that didn’t tell him who or how they were. No, this was really not a date, but he still felt incredibly anxious.

He couldn’t help but thinking that this was some sort of test. If things went good, if the evening was nice and Thomas good company, then perhaps there was some hope for whatever could happen between them. Maybe it could help his own internal debate, but maybe it could allow him to judge whether his neighbour was interested or not. The man had asked him to join them, after all, and he didn’t have to. They weren’t friends or anything, their various random encounters not exactly counting. It could be Fred’s idea of course, but something told Bilbo that Thomas had taken part in this decision. This evening could lead to something, whatever that something was.

 

He settled for one of the French jumpers he had bought one summer, a comfortable thing that looked casual enough in his opinion, but could look fancy with the good accessories. Not that accessorizing was necessary for this particular occasion, he thought. Maybe he could just do without anything but his old watch, the one with the leather bracelet. It was a navy shade of blue, with two thin white stripes on the chest, and looked perfect with nice brown corduroy trousers. Yes, it was good enough, by default.

 

Bilbo was perfectly on time in front of his door, waiting for Thomas to knock. But the man had to be late, which prompted five agonising minutes when Bilbo was absolutely certain that it had actually been a trick after all, and that the man was probably laughing at him somewhere. Five minutes, which of course ended with the door bell ringing and Bilbo feeling positively silly for his sudden pang of anxiety.

Thomas Durin was, as always, absolutely stunning and regal. Dark blues definitively were his favourites, which made them assorted this time. His navy blue shirt hung to his frame in all the right places, and Bilbo had to use a great deal of willpower not to touch those wonderfully shaped shoulders in his astonishment. Breathing. Breathing is the key. They had picked the same colour for the tops, but Thomas was wearing dark jeans, and here stopped the similarities in their outfits. Yavanna, were those thighs even real ?

 

\- I was wondering, Bilbo asked him when they were in the car, what is your brother doing in London ?

\- He is a cook.

\- Really ?

\- Yeah. He had always liked cooking. He came home when he was eight, saying that he would own a restaurant, one day. Bit of a disappointment for my grandfather, but he thought he would grow out of it.

\- He never did.

\- Never. Actually…

 

Thomas interrupted himself, frowning at the road in front of him.

 

\- I’m glad he could escape my grandfather’s ideal.

 

A heavy silence fell around them for a while, Bilbo finding nothing to say. His grandfather seemed to have played a huge part in their lives, if what he remembered from Fred’s story was right. He remembered that they went to live with him, after their father left to travel. It wasn’t difficult to imagine that he had had a huge importance. Bilbo was curious to know what Thomas’s point of view was on this, he who had to be responsible and mature to supply for the adults’ in their family, but he didn’t want to seem rude with his questions. It probably wasn’t his place to ask… curiosity killed the cat, after all. Though, satisfaction brought it back, his Tookish part finished. And then, Thomas’s voice rose again.

 

\- I loved my grandfather, Bilbo, dearly, but… he certainly knew how to put pressure on you, to shape you as he willed. I’m glad he couldn’t with Frederick. My brother had always been a free spirit, lucky him.

\- Did he… shape you ?

 

Bilbo let this out in a breath, regretting asking as soon as the question escaped through his lips, but Thomas didn’t seem to mind.

 

\- Oh, yes. I’m very easy to convince with grand talks about duties and family honour. Maybe I was a knight in another life.

 

Bilbo smiled at that. They spent the rest of the car ride conversing about things way funnier than Thomas’s family, though it stayed in Bilbo’s mind for a long time after that. His head also filled with pictures of Thorin in a shinning armour, wielding a sword and looking like some mighty king of old. This was an interesting vision, indeed. Bilbo wondered what would have been his own role in this kind of story. Probably not anything so wonderful and noble, he imagined. He wasn’t exactly the stuff of legend, and the hero type was too big an outfit for such a little man. Not that he minded… he was perfectly content with being just him, and not some proud war lord. Well, they would never know, anyway, he thought, turning to his side to look at the land through the window.

 

The pub looked friendly and welcoming, flanked by an Italian restaurant and a pharmacy – the latter already closed – its front wall painted blue and with flowers on the windows. People were drinking their liquors outside, laughing and talking together, and there was music coming from inside. It was all very nice, even from someone like Bilbo who wasn’t a very sociable person. It quite reminded him of the Green Dragon, the pub in his parents’ town. But this one’s name was Blue Mountains, as the letters painted on the front informed them when they entered.

It didn’t take long to find their companions for the evening. Fred Durin’s mane of light hair was hard to miss under the cheerful light. He was sitting at a table in the back, in deep conversation with Norman Rydder – whose own ginger hair was a beacon of its own – and…

 

\- Boyd ! Bilbo exclaimed, causing the men at the table to turn around.

\- Hey, Bilbo. Thomas. Good evening.

\- What ? You know Boyd too ? Thomas asked him.

\- Well, yes, we work together. Actually, I know Norman because I know Boyd.

\- Oh, well that explains it.

 

Thomas shook his head slowly, certainly adding two and two together with his understanding of who Bilbo had talked about when he had said “mutual acquaintance”, around a month ago. They sat at the table too, and Bilbo was surprised to see Fred standing up, and turning to him with a smile.

 

\- So, Bilbo, what are you drinking ?

\- What ? Oh, well I was thinking a beer or something.

 

He interrupted himself, looking at Fred with a suspicious expression,

 

\- But I can’t let you pay, I mean-

\- Oh, don’t worry Bilbo ! I promised my brother I would pay for him and for you, if you were to come…

 

Bilbo turned to Thomas, surprised, just in time to see the threatening look the man was throwing at his brother. There was obviously something between those two, and Bilbo had a large enough family to know that it was better to abandon the fight instead of insisting. Those things always ended up badly for those who wanted to poke their noses into it.

 

\- Oh, well, if… if you insist. I wouldn’t want to step into some sort of family business.

 

As Fred was disappearing toward the bar, Bilbo turned to Boyd, sending his friend a curious glance, but the man gave him his best innocent smile – which didn’t look innocent at all, but was the sign that he wouldn’t reply. Norman, on the other hand, was grinning at Thomas, and seemed more than ready to poke at it a bit.

 

\- Fred had told us you would bring someone, Thomas, but he didn’t tell us who it was. I’m glad to see that it’s our dear Bilbo !

\- Yeah, well, Fred thought it would be nice.

\- Did he ? the ginger man asked with a tone in which Bilbo could easily perceive the sarcasm.

\- Yes, he did, came the stubborn answer.

 

Bilbo was looking between them, confused and wondering what all of this was about, but not daring to ask in case it was one of those things that were better left alone. He cleared his throat though, because now that he was here, and in such a good company, it was probably time to start a pleasant conversation.

 

\- By the way, Norman, I never found the time to ask you but… what is that thing with Dwaine ?

\- Which thing ?

\- I think he’s talking about the thing with your brother.

 

Thomas intervened, certainly happy to talk about something else.

 

\- Oh yeah ! That ! Well, that’s a funny story. It happens that my dear little brother, Oliver, is working a part time job at our friend Thomas’s firm, and he of course had to cross the path of some old satyr-

\- Norman !

 

Thomas exclaimed, shaking with laugher, as Boyd was nearly disappearing under the table in mirth.

 

\- Oh, sorry, some lurking grandpa-

\- Come on ! Boyd said finally, your brother is an adult, he has every right to chose whoever he likes.

\- Oh, I’m very happy for him, really… but you can’t deny that teasing Dwaine is way too funny to let it slide.

\- Well… you got a point.

 

Fred put the glasses on the table with that comment, prompting a nod from his brother and Boyd. Bilbo reached for his own glass, smiling.

 

\- It certainly was funny to see his reaction, that day. He looked positively offended, as a dog denied of his toy.

 

The comparison certainly hit his mark. Thomas, still shaking with silent laugher, was starting to look red, and Boyd let out a bark of laugher, his trademark trapper hat nearly falling off.

 

\- That’s exactly it ! Norman confirmed, eyes watering with tears of joy.

\- A big hound dog without his toy.

 

 

And so went the evening. Bilbo was enjoying himself immensely. The relief to see that the mystery friends were people he not only knew, but appreciated, had helped him relax and attack this evening with a newfound enthusiasm, his previous nervousness entirely forgotten. Norman and Boyd were nice fellows, both incredibly funny in their respective ways, and with that openness which put everybody around at ease. And Fred, well, Bilbo had already seen how friendly he was, and they had even exchanged a few recipes and cooking stories. Bilbo had listened in awe to his anecdotes about this or that famous person who had come to his restaurant. He seemed to possess a strong reputation, but he was still impressed by Bilbo’s own stories about large family gatherings, and his father’s cooking, and the silly little things the accountant had to offer.

And Thomas, well… even he seemed to relax in such a boisterous and nice company. He was laughing and smiling, and adding a few jokes and comments of his own every now and then, obviously enjoying himself as well, and Bilbo suspected it wasn’t that often that he could let go of his stoic façade. Fred’s quick glances at his brother, and his content smiles, were telling Bilbo that his analysis was rather founded. It made the evening all the more pleasant to Bilbo.

 

Tugging a drunk Fred in the backseat of the car afterwards, after Boyd and Norman had bided their goodnights and gone their ways, Bilbo looked up at Thomas’s expression, warm and open. They chatted some more, Bilbo feeling slightly tipsy because of the beers he had drunk, and something in his brain telling him that he should probably not talk too much at Thomas, who had not drunk more than one beer, for his part, and was certainly sober enough to remember the babbling Bilbo was letting out. But, of course, he couldn’t stop himself. Maybe it was a good thing. Maybe he needed to get a bit drunk to be able to talk without minding himself too much. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know many things about what had happened in the rest of the evening. Bilbo had always been a light weight, and the alcohol seemed to have taken his memories and judgment. The only thing he remembered the next morning, when he woke up in his sofa, Smeagol licking his hand with vigour, was probably a dream anyway. But it followed him all day long, as the idea that maybe it had actually happened grew inside his mind. If it had happened indeed, he wasn’t even sure whether it was wonderful, or a disaster.

He didn’t know many things, but the sensation of Thomas’s lips against his was starting to feel too strong and real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh oh... look who's a very mean dragon and leaves you on a cliffhanger !  
> Well, I hope you like how things are moving, and I'll try to write the next chapter quickly so you don't have to wait for too long :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has to come to terms with what happened after their evening at the bar, and what to do about it... not that it's an easy task.

The problem was that, unlike Bilbo, Thomas hadn’t been drunk enough to be able to write the kiss as a creation of his dazed and tired brain. Most people would say that it was a good thing, of course, this kiss, especially after that much time pinning hopelessly, but Thomas Durin wasn’t most people, and he did have a certain tendency to see everything from a rather pessimistic point of view. This and the fact that, as said previously, Bilbo had been too drunk to really understand what he had done. Suddenly he was on his tiptoes kissing Thomas – though smashing his lips against his would be a more accurate description – and the second after, he was waltzing unsteadily towards his own house with a wave of his hand as if nothing exceptional had just happened. And maybe that was the case. Maybe nothing exceptional had happened as far as Bilbo was concerned. Thomas, on the other side, couldn’t brush it off, couldn’t shake it off of his mind. 

That being said, he had no intention of doing anything about it whatsoever. As much as he was usually described as obstinate, never giving up, and courageous, those adjectives didn’t extend to his social life in general. In this area, his strategy was more akin to running away and hiding forever. What a life. 

  


This wouldn’t do, though. Wouldn’t do because ignoring Bilbo would start looking obvious at some point, and he needed to act at least civil and polite or he might as well pack up his things again and move out, as it would mean the end of his friendly rural neighbourhood ambition. He really didn’t want to give up on that just yet. And wouldn’t do because… well… because he did like Bilbo, and it wasn’t in his habits to just ignore people he liked. No, the truth was that Thomas Durin could turn into the sappiest and most clingy lost puppy sometimes. 

He wanted to be around Bilbo, this was the truth. The man was friendly, in a sort of polite and calm way, and easy to talk to. But he also had a strong personality that he wasn’t afraid to let show, and this was probably what appealed to Thorin the most. He liked this, the vein of iron under the sleeping stone. 

He would need to square his shoulders. Soon. At some point. Probably. It was easier said than done, as is the case with most things. You tell yourself, or are told by people, that acting on it is liberating, is getting somewhere, and even though you can see the truth in it, it doesn’t mean it suddenly feels easier to do it. 

  


  


Destiny was to provide him with a good reason to step out of his cavern and act, however. 

  


The appointed postman for their neighbourhood was a man called Lionel. Thomas hadn’t exactly care to know this bit of information. It was obvious from his lack of love for social interaction that he had no patience for coming out of the house to greet a postman in any civil way. But he had learnt it anyway, on one particular morning when the bicycle of said postman had decided to flat its tire right in front of his house. As much as he didn’t like small talks, Thomas wasn’t an arse, and he couldn’t exactly let the poor fellow with his trouble. He had therefor helped the man fix his engine, and exchanged a few words with him, by way of consequences. 

He appreciated him. Lionel Dir wasn’t an extremely talkative or warm person, rather stuck-up, if one had to find a word, but it suited Thomas. He also was polite and loved a job well done, which gave him a good enough reputation in Thomas’s mind, and in the rest of their neighbourhood as well, apparently. They would never become friends, that was for sure, but he wasn’t deemed a threat to Thomas’s peace of mind, and that was that. Sometimes, this is more than enough. 

  


But Lionel was a human being, and human beings catch colds and are replaced for a while by someone else. Someone else with less dedication for their job and a tendency to confound houses. Thomas’s and Bilbo’s, for instance. 

  


When Thomas received an envelope with a delicate handwriting in bright green ink and little daisies instead of dots on the I, he guessed it wasn’t meant to be addressed to him. Nobody in their right mind would think of sending him, of all the people gracing this earth, such a fancy letter. Sure enough, the name of Benjamin Baggins was proudly written and with a lot of unnecessary curves on the front of the envelop. Right. Well, he didn’t have much of a choice now, did he ? 

And so, two weeks after their previous night in the pub, Thomas Durin was forced to cross Bilbo’s front garden with the air of a condemned man meeting his unfortunate fate. He was glad neither of his siblings could see him. Or Dwalin. Bilbo’s footsteps after he had knocked at the door, and the sound of his voice, made bile rise in his throat. “Calm down Durin,” he told himself, “stay cool, you can do it”. The door opened finally, all too soon to allow him to really steal his nerves. 

  


\- Yes Aunt Mirabella… hm hm, yes I know. It should have arrived by now. Yes, I’ll call you when it does. 

  


He looked up at Thomas with a little grimace, then smiled. 

  


\- Listen, I have to go. There’s someone at the door. Love you too. 

  


He ended the conversation and let out a long sigh, before turning to Thomas. 

  


\- Family ! Ah, I love her, but she’s become rather authoritarian in her old days. How are you ? 

  


The question caught him entirely unprepared, mainly because he was to busy staring at Bilbo’s jovial and homely features. He looked genuinely happy to see him, which in itself was a good thing, but the absence of unease or even hesitation told Thomas what he had wanted to know – Bilbo didn’t remember their kiss or, if he did, he didn’t give it any sort of importance. And this, on the contrary, didn’t feel very good. Thomas mirrored Bilbo’s smile, though, as stiff as it was. 

  


\- Fine, fine. Thank you. I’ve got this for you… new postman made a mistake. 

  


He produced the envelop, almost thrusting it into the man’s hands in his nervousness and disappointment. If Bilbo noticed the shift in his mood, or the abruptness, he did no mention of it, and instead went to inspect the envelop, his face lighting for a moment, before he frowned. - I guess I’ll have to call her back now. He looked back up to Thomas. 

  


\- Thank you. Do you want to come inside for tea ? I made some nice cupc- 

\- No ! No, thanks. I have… work to do. Much work. Sorry. 

  


Bilbo was eyeing him a bit puzzled now, but he still didn’t comment or ask if there was something wrong. Thomas wanted to escape and retreat into his house and pretend the world didn’t exist. Bilbo smiled somewhat uneasily, then broke the awkward silence. 

  


\- No problem. So… have a nice day. 

\- Yeah, you too. 

  


He turned back heals and went back into his own house, trying to preserve as little dignity as he had left by pointedly not running. It felt difficult not to. He closed the door behind himself, and slid slowly against it with a groan. Smaug came sniffing around him, probably wondering what the hell was wrong with his master, but ending being absolutely obnoxious from Thomas’s point of view. He would have preferred the dog to mind his own business and let him skulk in peace. 

That was it, then. Either Bilbo didn’t remember anything about the kiss, and Thomas really didn’t feel like walking up to him to say “oh, by the way, you kissed me after we went to the pub, and I kind of liked that so I would like if you did it again, thank you.” – wouldn’t that be extremely awkward ? – Or he did remember and decided to simply ignore it, which was even worse, and made Thomas even more adverse to the idea of bringing the subject into the conversation. 

He was being silly, probably. A grown up man like him. He could hear his siblings’ remarks, Fred’s laugh and Daisy’s heavy sigh. Pull your head out of your own arse, Thoza, they would say to him. And they would be right, he knew that. Still, he couldn’t. If Bilbo didn’t want anything to do with him in that way, then he had no right to annoy him with it, and if he didn’t remember, he shouldn’t make everything weird between them. Not now that it was starting to be great, what with the going out to the pub with friends and everything. 

  


He spent his day working on his papers, but distracted and unwilling, and went to bed feeling miserable and lonely. It wouldn’t do, no. It really wouldn’t do. Was it really romantic disappointment which caused him so much pain and nostalgia ? It seemed so strange to feel so down about such a small inconvenience. Maybe he had underestimated the depth of his feelings. He had thought it but a crush, but perhaps it was worse than that ? If it made him feel so, it had to be more than a crush.

  


  


It wasn’t the crush, after all. It wasn’t his crush that had made him feel miserable. Or not entirely, at least. He woke up the next day with the mightiest of colds. How the hell did he manage to catch a cold in early September, he didn’t know. Probably the only accurate answer to this question was : English weather. Perhaps the bloody wind which had been blowing for the last few days. Yes, it was certainly that. Tossing around in his bed, he had to resign himself to call his office to take a day off, that’s how bad it was. 

And of course, Fred had to send him a text while he was lying on his bed, Smaug snuggled close to him, at some point in the morning. As if he had any patience in him to deal with his nonsense. ‘btw how’s Bilbo ? :p’. Oh, you’ve got to be kidding, he thought, vaguely bitter but not well enough to really be angry. Maybe it was the cold, and the feverish state of his brain, which made him childish, but he did reply ‘Bilbo doesn’t like me and I’m sick and I hate you’. He barely had the energy to read his brother’s answer before he fell asleep. Not that ‘:o’ was an extremely relevant reply, though. 

  


He wasn’t aware yet of what his moody answer had provoked… but he would, soon. And needless to say, he would not be very pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And of course it took me 4 months to complete this teeny tiny chapter.   
> Sorry folks, University got in the way. I am really satisfied with how my grades turned out so far, so it was worth investing my time one it, but I'm still really sorry I left everything hanging x)  
> I can't promise you it'll get any better, so I hope you will forgive me for the long delays and still enjoy this fic.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is starting to have some doubts about Thomas's behaviour. Now, should he do something about it, and most importantly : what ?

The weather was absolutely awful. No, awful wasn’t strong enough a word. It was worse than that. It was treacherous.

Summer had been exceptionally early this year, and everybody in town had decided to switch to their summer wardrobe. Skirts and dresses, flip flops, straw hats, tank tops, shorts… people had been more than eager to expose their skins to the lovely sun after the winter and sad spring months. And the beautiful weather had seemed well settled for the following months. Up until late June, when it suddenly decided to change its mind, all in the span of one morning.

 

When he had woken up that very morning and opened his fridge to make himself some breakfast – the most important meal of the day, if you asked him, though he usually said that of every meal – Bilbo had realised that he lacked several of the essential food item that any respectable household should have. He had therefor decided to do some groceries shopping after he had eaten. Up until this point, everything had run smoothly. He had even decided to use it as an opportunity to walk, encouraged by the lovely rays of sunshine that had started to present themselves to the world and bathe things in its warm light.

He had spent only ten minutes in the shopping centre, but it had apparently been enough for all hell to break loose. And here he was, only dressed in linen trousers and a light summer shirt, holding his paper bag and sighing deeply. Why do bad things happen to good people ?

 

In the end, he had spent more time standing in the shopping centre’s entrance, peering through its door in hopes that the weather would clear out soon, than he had spent actually shopping. Heavy rain was falling down in front of his eyes and it seemed in no haste to stop. He was starting to wonder if he should brave the weather after all, light clothes be damned, and do the 4 minutes walk back home running and praying that none of his food be spoiled. He had bought butter and started to fear its melting in the bag. If it was just for his clothes, well he could always steal himself and then change into dry clothes once home. He was more concerned for the state of his fruits on the other hand. That’s what he’d call a real dilemma.

But just as he was about to conclude that, after all, he would protect the bag as much as possible and hope for the best, a familiar voice behind his back made him startle.

 

\- Bilbo ? Are you alright ?

 

He turned back to the sight of Thomas Durin and his confident stride coming his way.

 

\- Oh, hi Thomas ! Just asking myself how I’m going to cross that rain and keep my food dry. But otherwise, I’m fine.

\- Oh yeah ! Nasty weather. But I’ve come prepared.

 

He had added the last part in an affected victorious cry and showed Bilbo the umbrella he was carrying under his arm.

 

\- Very thoughtful of you. But how did you guess it was going to rain ?

\- It’s just experience. My grandpa used to take us to mountains, and the weather would change so quickly you had barely the time to find a shelter. After a while you start noticing the patterns before storms.

 

Bilbo nodded his understanding, and gave another forlorn look at the outside.

 

\- I wish I was as good at deciphering the weather.

\- Years of practice. Shall I give you a ride ?

 

Bilbo turned to him with wide eyes, confused for a moment as to what Thomas meant, but the man was opening his umbrella, his own paper back balancing precariously in the process, and that cleared any nasty thoughts Bilbo had had. Of course he was talking about that, eheh. Sure… what else would he mean ? Come on Baggins, get a grip. He disguised his embarrassment with a cough, before answering.

 

\- That’d be fantastic, thank you very much.

 

And so they proceeded to make the trip back to their houses, carefully hiding under the protection of the umbrella. Once again, Bilbo couldn’t help but notice how big Thomas was next to him. He could feel so tiny in his presence sometimes. Granted, Bilbo wasn’t particularly tall – quite the opposite actually – but it was something else. In fact, there was something about Thomas other than his height and built. There was a presence, something that made you instinctively aware of his presence, like a sort of leadership. He didn’t know exactly where it came from, but it was there, without any doubt.

 

On top of the feeling of being crowded by Thomas under the shared umbrella, there was a lingering question in Bilbo’s mind. At some point in the past few weeks, things had turned a bit awkward between the two of them. He wasn’t exactly sure why, and couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment he had first realised it, but the fact was that he had seen less of his neighbour as of a sudden. He kept telling him that he had too much work, and he had been more than willing to believe him… if not for Boyd commenting in passing on how Thomas’s office had actually finished a big contract and thus had the benefits of a deserved free time and extra money. Which seemed to be confirmed by Thomas indeed spending more time at his house… but definitively avoiding Bilbo, or so it seemed.

With time, it was getting somewhat better, and they were tentative talks from over the fence again, but still, it felt somewhat forced. Thomas was acting way too cheerfully for it to be totally in earnest. But Bilbo had no idea how to put the question on the table, or if he should ask the man in the first place. He had never been really good at addressing communication issues. He tended to be slightly pig-headed himself and let people do the first move. But maybe something needed to be done this time. Two could play the game of stubbornness, and Thomas looked particularly good at it, and was it worth it to lose a… Bilbo dared say a friend now… over a potentially harmless thing ?

He just wondered… what had happened exactly ? What had he done, this time ? Had he made an arse of himself ? Had he said something bad ? Boyd had assured him that he had acted perfectly normally, and he had no reason to doubt him. Not when he didn’t have his cocky smile and light of amusement in the eyes. So what ?

 

They reached Bilbo’s house soon, and he still had not gathered enough courage to ask him what was wrong. He was left standing in his kitchen, his bag of groceries still in his hands, and frowning at the tiles. He really needed to do something about that, didn’t he ? But it still brought him back to the same question : how to confront Thomas about it, and how to navigate such a conversation ?

 

 

A potential solution presented itself two days later and in the form of Frederick Durin. When Bilbo saw his mop of blond hair peaking from over the fence, something clicked inside his brain that maybe the man would hold the key to his brother’s thoughts, or that they would at least manage to work it out together. Here’s for hoping.

And when Fred sat down ten minutes later in Bilbo’s kitchen with a cup of tea and a batch of muffin in front of him, having agreed enthusiastically to come over for a chat, Bilbo didn’t lose time to attack on the subject.

 

\- Did you notice something wrong with your brother that… past two months or so ?

 

Fred cast him a weird look, but somehow he didn’t look surprised by his question. It looked as if he was trying to determine just how long Bilbo had thought about it, and to what conclusion he had come.

 

\- Well, did you notice something, Bilbo ?

\- Don’t play dumb with me.

\- I’m not trying to. But I’m curious to know what you make of it.

 

Bilbo let out a sigh, waving a hand in the air to emphasize his uncertainty.

 

\- Look, I don’t know, ok. It’s all fine, we’re being friendly and everything… and suddenly he’s… I don’t know…

\- Asocial ? Silent ? Avoidant ?

\- Yes, precisely. What does that mean ?

\- Once again, I return to you the question.

 

He looked far too smug, as if enjoying some telenovela, and Bilbo wasn’t sure to like that much. He gave him his best “uncle Bilbo is not pleased with your behaviour” look – one he had practised for years on his cousins’ numerous children – with very little effect, or rather with the effect of making Fred look even more happy with the situation.

 

\- You are not going to make this easy for me, are you ?

\- Nope.

 

Definitively enjoying himself too much.

 

\- Alright ! I think… I think something happened, like a week or so after our evening at the Blue Mountains, or maybe it had started just after, I don’t know. And that’s pretty much everything I can be sure of. The rest… absolutely no idea.

\- That’s not much.

\- That’s why I hoped you could help me. I have no clue where to start.

 

Fred tilted his head to the side, his mouth squeezed into a thin line and a sort of unhappy air about him. He seemed to be considering his words carefully as he spoke.

 

\- Bilbo… you have to understand that my brother is not… let’s say not very good at communication.

-No, really ? I wouldn’t have told.

\- Oh you’re not much better than him, are you ?

 

Bilbo felt indignation rising in his throat and nearly choke on his tea, but Fred was looking at him with a very no-nonsense look that seemed somehow misplaced on his usual enthusiast face.

 

\- What ? I can’t believe-

\- Have you asked him ? About what is wrong ?

\- I… no.

 

He was beginning to see what Fred was trying to tell him, but he didn’t like to acknowledge it out loud. He was really angry about the situation. He had done nothing wrong for crying out loud, or at least he thought. Why should he feel as if he was in Court awaiting the sentence. It was nonsensical. So he preferred looking into the depth of his cup to avoid eye contact with Frederick.

 

\- I’m not the person to ask, Bilbo. The only one who can answer your question and shed some light on it is Thomas.

\- But why do I have to be the one to take the first step ? I have no idea what’s wrong with him, and if there’s something I’ve done, maybe he should tell me. I’m not the one who has been passive-aggressive for weeks.

\- I know. But are you willing to let a… friend… go because neither of you are able to get over themselves ?

 

The question echoing what he had already thought of, Bilbo’s righteous anger deflated suddenly. Fred remained silent, knowing perfectly well that he had said the right thing and had managed to make him see reason. He had his arms closed on his chest and the same serious expression on the face which – if it weren’t for his hair being blond – made him look so much like his older brother.

 

\- It’s not a matter of who did wrong or right. It’s a matter of do you want the situation to fester. Is pride really worth it ?

\- Probably not.

\- Glad we agree on this one, because that’s my brother’s biggest problem and I’m really tired of seeing it backfire at him. Also, he is annoying when he’s angsty. I’d rather see him with someone who’s more level-headed.

\- With someone ? You make it sound so dramatic, it’s not like we’re…

 

Bilbo had laughed a bit at hearing his words, thinking them a bit exaggerate, but he interrupted himself, his giggle caught up in his throat. Fred had frozen and was now looking at him a bit warily. Bilbo squinted his eyes at him, suspicious.

 

\- Frederick ?

\- Uuuh. What ?

\- What is all of this about, in reality ?

\- I don’t see what you mean.

\- Oh I think you see perfectly well.

 

Something was nagging at him from the back of his mind, but he couldn’t place his finger on it.

 

\- At the pub, you went to pay for our drinks. You said something. I don’t remember but I know I thought it weird at the time. And now there’s that. What does that mean ?

\- You’re really reading too much in this, Bilbo.

\- Am I ?

 

Fred was shifting a bit on his chair now, looking like a child caught misbehaving in class. Bilbo tried to get something from his face and attitude, tried to find some sort of explanation, but there was nothing more useful than his obvious discomfort.

 

\- I don’t understand. It was all going so well, you guys invited me for a drink. There’s nothing more harmless than that, right ?

\- Of course, but-

\- But is it ?

\- What ?

 

Bilbo got up from his chair, much to the confusion of Fred who was looking now at him as if he had grown a second head, and took to cross the kitchen, then his entrance, then his front garden. He was vaguely aware that Fred had broken out of his confusion and was following after him, trying to catch his attention, but he didn’t acknowledge him. He just crossed his lawn stomping, followed by Thomas’s house’s lawn, and knocked on the door with probably more strength than was necessary.

He waited the few seconds it took Thomas to answer the door with his arms crossed on his chest, and his foot tapping angrily on the floor. The taller man opened the door, started to smile upon seeing Bilbo in front of him, before frowning when he noticed the man’s expression.

 

\- Bilbo ? What is the ma-

 

He didn’t have the time to finish his sentence. He was slapped across the face before uttering the last word fully. Bilbo heard the gasp of Fred behind his back, but he ignored it the same way he ignored the stunned and slightly pained expression of Thomas. He was too angry to care.

 

\- How dare you place a fucking bet on me, Thomas Durin ?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, how many of you thought Bilbo had actually understood and this chapter was going to have a lovey-dovey ending ? :p  
> Sorry for giving you false hopes, but on the other hand it seemed funny to imagine him understanding everything wrong. Oops. Poor Thorin.
> 
> It was a very long delay for this chapter, and I'm sorry. I said it in another of my fics, but I started a new academic life and it was all new and wonderful. I've scored top marks and have been selected for an Erasmus year starting next September. I was so very excited, but it was consuming in time and energy, and so I couldn't write much.  
> I'm not abandoning this fic, though. It's a good way for me to evacuate stress and work on something light and refreshing. And I hope to be able to write more tropes and prompts using this universe. ;)


End file.
